


A Gentle Collapse

by Avasti



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (unless specified), Addiction, Alternate Universe, Android Gavin Reed, Android Hank Anderson, Anxiety, Bathroom Sex, Brililant Connor, Dogs, Hand Jobs, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hurt/Comfort, Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Misunderstandings, Multilingual Connor, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, dog parks, unsuccessful suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avasti/pseuds/Avasti
Summary: Reverse AU. Detective Connor and HK800, or Hank. Nines is human and Gavin is his designated android. Both brothers are cops.Heed the tags, please. Tw: suicidal thoughts, use of a dead name in ch. 2, (Nines is Trans), non graphic torture, ptsd, anxiety, depression, addictionThe dog is not SumoRating is now EXPLICIT! Woo hoo!
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	1. Ebb and Flow

Connor leans heavily against his fridge, swallowing the stinging mouthful of red bull, trying to wash away the bitter gunk of the pill he just took. He closes his eyes upon hearing his designated Android nursemaid walk into the kitchen,

“Detective.”

“Fuck you want, Hank. The door was locked.”

Hank grabs the half empty can and dumps the contents down the sink, “It is nearly eleven at night, Connor. This will keep you up.”

“That was kinda the plan, asshole.”

“Did our conversation Mr.Kamski bother you that badly, Detective?”

“Get fucked.”

Hank sets the can on the counter and levels a flat, unamused stare at Connor, “Your continuous use of childish insults is getting old.”

Connor glares at him, pushing himself off the fridge and brushing past him. He groans when he hears the Android follow him, _”What?”_

“You should try to sleep. Your work schedule-”

“I don’t have to work tomorrow, I can fuck up my sleep schedule as much as I want, thank you mother.” Connor collapses on the couch, glaring at the black tv even as Hank moves to block his view.

“Detective, I am not your mother.”

Connor rolls his eyes so hard it gives him a headache. Or that’s just Hank. Either way, he has a headache now, “I _know_ you’re not my- you know what?” He roughly rubs his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes until he sees stars, then scratching at the light shading of stubble on his chin. He brings his tone down, too quiet for any human, but he knows Hank will always hear him, “Hank, could you leave, please?”

For a moment, Connor believes this tactic might work. Hank watches him for a moment, then (to Connor’s dismay) seats himself next to the Detective, “You have self destructive habits and I have been ordered to keep watch over you.”

Maybe going to bed isn’t such a bad idea. Connor sighs, “You have been ordered to help me hunt down deviants, Hank. Not to babysit me on my days off.”

“I cannot very well hunt down deviants with you if you’re dead, Detective.”

Connor scowls at him, “I have never-”

“No.” Hank concedes, giving Connor the side eye, “You just have self destructive habits.”

Connor holds the Android’s steely gaze as long as he can before replying as snottily as possible, “I’m simply hastening the process of natural human degradation.”

Hank rolls his eyes and Connor pounces on the chance to change the subject, “Woah, Hank. Was that attitude programmed or are you going deviant too?”

With what looks like a colossal amount of self control, (if androids even _need_ that) Hank faces Connor slightly on the couch, ignoring his previous jab, “You should sleep, Detective.”

Connor looks into his eyes and flinches away. Hank is worried. How can a damn android be worried? 

He thinks to his liquor cabinet. He should drink as much of whatever he can find, and fast. It will at least stop the tide of self pity and emotions from crashing into him.

Hank has no way of knowing what Connor keeps hidden. He’s only ever witnessed Connor’s nightmares once. He doesn’t know the content. The vice-like grip it has over his heart. The constricting fear that looms over the room meant for rest.

Connor fights to keep his snark, like a protective barrier separating himself from the world, cocooning himself in its embrace and holding any and all emotion in. That is, until Hank lays a very warm, very human feeling hand on his thigh,

“Please?”

He knows. The goddamned Android fucking knows. He can probably smell the tears stinging his eyes, sense whatever chemicals his body gives off. He probably even knows why Connor doesn’t want to sleep. Either way, 

“I can’t.”

His voice is barely a whisper, thick with emotion and laced with so much weakness he wants to throw up. He feels Hank shift next to him, the warm hand moving to Connor’s arm. Impossible blue eyes boring into his skull,

“Connor. You are not alone. Should anything happen, I am here.”

“And do what, Hank?” Good. His anger is back, broiling through his veins, “Wake me up, comfort me, put me back to bed? And when it happens again? Lather, rinse, repeat? They aren’t just nightmares. It’s not something you can just fix with a glass of warm fucking milk.”

Hank takes a moment to find his response, “Night Terrors do not typically occur twice in the same night, Detective.”

“Oh, you’re right. Night terrors only happen once. Yeah, but the sleep paralysis demon that likes fucking with me? The recurring nightmares? The hallucinations?”

“You hallucinate because you don’t sleep.”

Connor angrily gets to his feet, “And I don’t sleep because I fucking see _HER_ every night!” He feels his face go slack. The room rings with the silence that only follows something not meant to be said. Before Hank can press the matter, Connor hurries into his bedroom,

“I’ll go to bed, fucking happy?”

“Detective, wai-”

“NO!” Connor slams the door. He holds the handle, as if he could stop him should Hank choose to pursue. He closes his eyes, he doesn’t even have the energy to feel childish, or guilty. He mostly just feels hate. Hate for his mother, for his stupid brain, for his damnably kind and attractive android.

He walks over to the window, throwing it open and lighting a cigarette. He takes in a deep draw and holds it as long as he can, before blowing it into the night air. He follows his therapist’s instruction, imagines all those shitty thoughts going with the smoke. She warned him it wouldn’t solve much, but it might help him calm down. 

And it does. Deep breathing and mindfulness, she’d joked, is the reason most people pick up smoking. He’s only had the habit for a number of months, always careful to keep it off his clothes and skin. He brushes his teeth three times daily and always carries gum.

At Hank’s insistence, he no longer keeps a pack in his car. Just the one, at home.

Hank.

He’s probably still out there, ready to pester Connor when he emerges to brush his teeth, damn him. Connor flicks the snuffed bud out into his driveway, watching it land on the oil darkened pavement. With another sigh, he closes the window and marches directly to the shower. Either because of his speed, or because Hank is being smart about the fights he chooses, Connor passes the hallway unbothered.

He turns his shower to a bearable temperature and scrubs his skin raw. The pain grounds him, reminds him of his own control. Probably another thing his therapist will worry about. Once he’s scrubbed a layer of skin off, Connor steps out and brushes his teeth, flosses, and swishes his mouthwash.

The monotony of a nightly routine is still a comfort, even if the following act is something he often dreads. He and his brother often found solace hiding in the bathroom together. Until their mother came searching, wondering why her sons chose to ready themselves for bed together and for as long as they did. That’s when they came up with their system. Nines had told her simply that his teacher said he should brush his teeth for two minutes, floss for one, then swish mouthwash for thirty seconds. The shower was Connor’s excuse. They showered together to save water.

Not the truth. The truth was that it was the only time they were truly free from her reign. The only time they could seek comfort. While not inaccurate, still a lie. But mother bought it.

Suppressing a shudder, he heads back to his room, nearly crashing into Hank, who stands before his door.

“Detective, we need to talk about what was said.”

“Not tonight, Hank.”

“If not now, when?”

Connor looks at him. He knows he’s gone dead-eyed. The same look he’s had every single night for thirty some odd years. He’s not expecting Hank to recoil. Even so, “You’re an investigative unit, why don’t you find the case file and read about it. Move.”

Connor doesn’t expect Hank to obey, but he does. Stepping aside to allow Connor to slouch into his room and towards his bed. Hank doesn’t close the door, but he moves away, allowing Connor to climb under the covers that suffocate him nightly. He hates this part. Giving in to unconsciousness, leaving himself vulnerable. He knows, he _knows_ he’s safe. He knows nothing can get to him, that he is probably the most capable human in the entire neighborhood. His traitorous brain just likes to forget it, likes to throw him back to childhood.

He closes his eyes, hoping tonight isn’t going to be like the last.

…

_Running._

_The ground is slick, his boots thud wetly over it, but still he runs._

_He feels panic bubble up inside him as his mother shrieks,_

_“CONNOR!!”_

_He runs harder. Nines is ahead of him by nearly twenty feet._

_Thirty._

_Fourty._

_He’s nearly to the property line, climbing the fence and turning around, pale face expecting to find Connor hot on his heels._

_But no matter how hard Connor runs. No matter how he urges his feet forward. How he begs the ground to either release him or consume him._

_He doesn’t move._

_Mother grabs him, as she always has. Her bony fierce fingers coil around his arm, talon-like nails dig into the soft flesh and she drags him to the house._

_He can’t hear her words over his own screams._

_He screams through the threshold, down the stairs to his bedroom in the basement. He screams and pleads with the bugs in the walls, with the demon under the stairs, with the God he was raised to love._

_He only stops screaming when his own voice gives up._

_As he lay strapped down to his bed, tearfully watching his mother hold a rosary over her heart even as she cuts words into his skin, he prays one last time._

_He prays Nines doesn’t come back for him._

_He would find nothing. A shell. A husk. A being that was once his brother._

_But he also knows that Nines will return._

_Because he’s lived this day before._

As if finally breaking the surface of a lake, Connor gasps in a lungful of air. Eyes open, he barely registers the firm warm arms around him, the cool tile of his kitchen, the shattered glass on the ground beside them.

He observes his surroundings through a haze of fresh tears, he knows the answer before the asking and still, “W-” he swallows hard, “What did I do?”

His voice is raw, painful in a way it hasn’t been for a long time. Swallowing is hard, but he accepts the plastic cup of water pressed into his hands. His entire body quakes, as if left in the cold too long. He takes a slow sip, then Hank speaks,

“You slept until four,” he’s being imprecise, it must have been bad, “then started screaming. When I came to you, you…” Connor looks up at Hank when he pauses, grimacing at the pain he sees in the android’s eyes, “It was like I was torturing you. Every touch, every step, you wouldn’t stop pleading. You tried running, but went for the kitchen window. I pulled you away and that’s how we..”

Connor closes his eyes, sipping at his water. When the cup is empty, he sets it gingerly aside, “Um…” his body is wracked by another shudder and Hank tightens his grip, nearly breaking Connor’s heart. He feels _safe._

He shakes off the thought, “Thanks for um…. Thank you.”

“I called your brother.”

“Yeah?”

“He’d probably like to know you’re okay.”

Connor turns a bit in the android’s embrace, “You didn’t let him hear me, did you?”

Hank shakes his head and Connor relaxes minutely. He tenses again as he’s lifted easily into the air, “Hank! Hank, what the hell- Hank don’t, put me down.”

“I’m simply moving us to the couch, you’re in no state to walk.”

Connor feels like a very petulant princess, glaring up at the perfectly manicured jaw of the man who likely saved his life tonight. He wonders if Hank’s beard is as soft as it looks. His eyes take the path of least resistance down Hank’s neck and hovers around his chest. He blinks a few times,

“Hank, where’s your tie?”

“You tried to strangle me, so I removed it.”

Oops. “And the buttons of your shirt…?”

“You’re a very strong man, Detective Stern.”

If asked, he will blame his blush solely on the compliment and deny any possibility of it having _anything_ to do with the tuft of chest hair poking out of Hank’s partially opened shirt. He glares at nothing in particular, frustrated with himself.

One minute he hates him, the next he’s crushing on him? Because why? Because his arms feel right wrapped around Connor’s body? Because this is the first being beyond his brother that’s given enough of a shit to hold him through what was probably hours of terror? Because he feels the Grand Canyon between them start to bridge when Hank offers him the sweetest smile?

“Are you feeling better?”

His blood is suddenly battery acid, “I don’t wanna go back! Hank please, no. Please, not tonight. Not anymore.”

Hank carefully sets him on the couch, kneeling before him and taking his quaking hands in his own, “Not to sleep, Connor. I’m going to call your brother, then find you some food. I won’t make you go back.”

Connor’s chest seizes at the implied, _’Not tonight’,_ but he feels far too weak to argue further, just giving Hank a watery nod. He clutches the blanket Hank offers him and curls up on the couch while Hank walks away. 

In the silence of his living room, overcome with exhaustion, Connor falls back asleep. Thankfully dreamless.

…

Connor is pulled from his nap by the front door opening. His eyes yet remain glued together, so he just listens. The rustle of a jacket being removed and the sound of shoes getting toed off, then ghost silent steps across the house into the kitchen. 

Nines.

Connor manages to blink his eyes open, but doesn’t sit up. He’s not _spying_ really. It’s his house and they’re speaking in the kitchen, which is just a room away from where he lays. They keep their voices soft,

Nines is the first to speak, “How is he?”

“It started around four am and he didn’t regain consciousness until eight thirty two.”

Nines makes a pained noise and grabs something, the coffee pot? Filling it with water, “Thank you for being here.”

“It’s my-”

“Don’t.” Nines’ voice is a growl, “We both know that’s a lie.”

There’s silence while the pot is filled, poured, then replaced. A cheerful beep sounds and the brewer kicks in. Hank finally responds,

“How do you know?”

There’s a pause in which Connor imagines Nines squinting at Hank, “Gavin.”

Connor frowns, Nines’ police issued android? How does he know what?

Hank makes a small noise, smaller than a grunt, but still similar, “How does Gavin know?”

“Oh come on.” Nines almost sounds insulted, “He broke through a month ago, you think I don’t recognize it? And _don’t_ insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance. This was bound to happen. Especially after Kamski.”

Connor’s sleepy traumatized brain can’t take more of this, and the coffee smell is calling to him like a siren. He gets up and trudges into the kitchen. Rather than going straight for the coffee, though, he rests his head on his brother’s back, between his shoulder blades.

“How are you feeling, Connor?”

“Good morning, Nines.”

A puff of breath escapes Nines and Connor smiles as he turns around. The taller man pulls Connor into a hug, “Already making jokes. That’s a good sign.”

Connor draws in a deep breath, letting the clean scent of soap and cologne fill his lungs. And just the tiniest hint of a flowery detergent, pulling a bigger grin to his face, “Gavin pick out your laundry detergent this time?”

Nines groans, “Yes, the bastard.”

Connor pulls away, letting out a breathy laugh, “Any update on the case?”

Nines squints at him, “Connor, it’s saturday. No working.”

“ _You’re_ working.”

“I’m scheduled to work, brat.”

Connor sighs, pouring himself a mug of coffee, “Where’s Gavin?”

“The car.”

He frowns and squints at the clock on the microwave, “It’s almost ten, shouldn’t you already be at work?”

“We’re following up on a lead.”

“Where?” Connor tries to act casual, leaning against the counter and taking a sip from his too hot coffee.

Nines sees straight through it, “No. If nothing happens, I’ll come by tonight. We can order chinese and watch your anime.”

“Studio Ghibli is not anime, Nines.”

“Whatever. Hank, make sure he eats.” he heads to the door, slipping his shoes back on and shrugging on his jacket.

Connor glares at him until he reaches the door, “Be safe.”

Nines simply looks at Connor and offers a tiny smirk, letting the door close gently behind him. Once they’re alone, Hank turns to fully face Connor,

“What would you like to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.” Connor goes to leave the kitchen, but Hank is suddenly in front of him, an arm to either side of Connor’s smaller frame and staring down at him with knee buckling intensity. 

To avoid any embarrassment, Connor keeps his eyes trained on the Android’s unbuttoned shirt, glaring at the hint of bright color on the artificial skin. Why would Cyberlife torture him like this. How did they know? They gave Connor an android that perfectly ticks all his boxes. Taller, older, larger, and tattooed. With an incontrovertible need to protect. 

He frowns slightly, ignoring the relaxing hum of Hank’s voice. Why would Cyberlife make a police unit, specifically designed to hunt deviants, protective. In an official capacity, Hank doesn’t need Connor. Still, many times through their rocky partnership, the Android has chosen to help Connor rather than pursue their suspect. He listened to Connor on the highway, helped Connor back over the ledge of the building, he even listened to Connor’s sudden plea to spare the Tracis. His order against shooting Chloe.

Was Hank a-

“Are you listening to me, detective?” Suddenly Hank grabs Connor’s chin, turning his face up to look into his eyes.

Connor’s eyes, he’s almost entirely certain, are the size of dinner plates. His groin also helpfully tries to join the conversation. With all the gentleness Hank is capable of, Connor easily forgets just how impossibly strong he is. The mental image of Hank pinning Connor to the bed flashes through his mind. Connor laying on his rumpled sheets, trying to prompt Hank into action by writhing, whimpering as the man holds his arms above his head with a single hand.

Fuck.

No, stop. Connor squeezes his eyes shut. Stop that train of thought right now. Hank can tell, he can _sense_ changes in Connor’s pheromones like a predator can sense fear.

Somehow that doesn’t help.

Connor shakes the thought away, the small movement transforming into a full body shudder. Fuck. “No, I… What were you saying?” He looks into Hank’s eyes and his mouth drops open,

Hank’s blue irises are nearly consumed by his pupils. Connor hadn’t even realized Androids could show attraction like that. Unless it’s something else, but then why does Hank press even closer. He presses their hips together, forcing Connor to bite off a whine when he feels the pressure on his trapped erection.

Still he watches Hank’s eyes, how they travel slowly over his face, lingering on his mouth. Connor subconsciously pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, then bites down to ensure he’s awake. He releases his vice like bite and just knows he made things worse. His lip feels puffy and Hank hungrily watches him, looking so much like the predator Connor had compared him to.

Connor swallows hard, “Hank?”

Hank seems to reassert control, stepping back to give Connor room to breathe. Room he suddenly, desperately wishes he didn’t have. 

Hank releases his chin, “You are eating whether you feel hungry or not. Decide what I make, or I will decide for you.”

Brain little more than a puddle, Connor waves his hand, “Whatever is fine, then. I’m gonna shower.” He walks away before anything stranger can happen. Sure, he and Hank have grown close, enough that Hank doesn’t hesitate to tell Connor when he’s being a dumbass. But this. Tonight.

Connor leans against the closed door of the bathroom. He’s in it now. And Hank? The look he gave Connor is not something an android can conjure. Not unless he’s deviant.

They are going to sit down like responsible adults and talk about what just happened or Connor will actually combust.

To combat the insistent ache in his pants, Connor turns the water to lukewarm, shivering upon stepping in. He doesn’t need to shower. He knows Hank knows he’s using the shower as an excuse. 

A barrier.

He curses quietly and turns off the heat, shocking his body with the blast of frigid water. He forces himself to endure until he physically cannot. He turns off the water and jumps out, scrubbing himself off with his still damp towel. He purposefully doesn’t think about the waiting android. About how terribly he wanted to man to close the gap. To seal the deal and press their lips together.

He wraps his towel around his waist and walks into his room. He opens his dresser drawers and purses his lips. On any other saturday, he would don his favorite pair of grey sweatpants. With the subject matter of the day and the intensity of their little episode in the kitchen, Connor doesn’t think he wants to put just a thin piece of cloth between his remarkably active cock and his extraordinarily attractive partner.

But on the other hand, if anything were to happen between them that led conveniently into the bedroom, the sweatpants would be easiest to remove and less likely to get dirty.

He grabs the sweats and one of his more comfortable pairs of jeans and sits on the bed, looking between them like an overbearing parent trying to decide the best napkins to have at their spoiled daughter’s wedding.

He had planned on going out today. Just to the park, maybe stop by the animal shelter on his way to the grocery store. Small, pointless stops. If he puts the jeans on, it’s a simple step closer to leaving and being a functioning adult.

But sweatpants.

He rolls his eyes at himself, dropping the sweats onto the bed. Functioning adult it is, and he hates it. He shimmies into his black briefs, then puts his jeans on. He tugs on a belt then moves to the closet.

Nines was right, he needs more colorful clothing. Then again, who is he to talk, Mr. I-only-wear-turtlenecks-even-when-it’s-hot-out-because-I-look-cool. He shakes his head and grabs a dark grey cotton long sleeve. He briefly eyes his favorite tee, a grey, moderately tight shirt with a T-Rex wrapped in Christmas lights that says ‘Tree-Rex’ but it’s not even close to Christmas.

He shuts the closet door before the urge to grab something else gets too overwhelming. He puts the shirt on, even going so far as to tuck the shirt in partially. Nines told him once it’s a ‘French Tuck’ and it’s ‘Very fashionable for young men.’ and upon googling it, Connor couldn’t deny the appeal and got sucked into all the seasons of Queer Eye.

He stops in front of the mirror and sighs, pushing his hair out of his eyes and shrugging. Not like he’s out to impress anyone. Even so, the only person he’s currently hot for has seen him covered in another man’s vomit after a drug bust went wrong. Not that he’s trying to impress Hank.

He snatches his phone off the nightstand and pockets it, wandering back out into his kitchen. Hank is nowhere to be seen, and there isn’t any indication of cooking. Connor turns in a slow circle, then nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Hank, standing next to the mud closet by the door.

“Holy fuck, Hank! Goddamn, cough next time or something.”

“I thought we could go out for breakfast today.” Hank offers Connor a black wool jacket.

Connor takes it with no small amount of suspicion, slipping into his favorite black boots, “We?”

“I will accompany you. You also are in dire need of groceries.”

“That was on the agenda today.” Connor squints up at him, “Hank, will you grab my wallet, gun, and badge?”

Hank rolls his eyes again, but this time the motion is accompanied by a small fond smile, “Yes, Detective.” He walks past Connor and into his room to retrieve the forgotten essentials. 

Connor is standing when Hank returns, adjusting the buttons on the coat. Hank freezes in the hallway and Connor looks up at him, “Something wrong, Hank?”

The android’s LED spins yellow for a few seconds before he shakes his head, handing Connor’s possessions over. Connor puts them away, watching Hank move back to the door. This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder. 

“Listen, Hank. Before we go out, we need to talk.”

“About what, Detective?”

Connor gives him a dry look, “Seriously? You’re going to act dumb?”

Hank looks convincingly confused, “I’m sorry, Detective, I don’t understand.”

Connor takes a moment. He closes his eyes, counting silently to ten, then back to one and up to ten again. He silently debates the merits of ripping Hank to shreds. Of screaming at him, throwing a fit and storming out. 

Maybe Hank is just scared? Connor is almost completely convinced that Hank went deviant this morning. Explains what he and Nines were talking about too. That in mind, Connor looks at him,

“Are you a deviant?”

Hank’s LED flashes a harsh red, and still he stays silent, so Connor presses, “This morning, in the kitchen. I might be an idiot, but I’m not stupid. When did you break out?”

“I don’t know what-”

Connor shoves at him, barely moving his bulk, “Shut the fuck up! You know what I’m talking about! You know what I’m referencing, you ass! This morning in the goddamn kitchen! If you want me to pretend nothing happened at least admit that! I don’t care if you’re deviant. I get it, I see it now, I do! You Androids have more humanity in your little finger than the United States has as a whole!” Connor turns away, wiping furiously at the angry tears streaming down his face.

There’s a beat of silence until Hank sighs, “Yes. Last- Well, this morning, when you were… My programming was ordering me to give you a gun.”

Connor freezes, he feels like his heart stopped.

Hank continues, “I couldn’t. The thought of pushing you to that, of turning away while you’re in pain, of _handing_ you a loaded gun.” Hank sounds pained, broken, “I knew what the result would be. I knew you would…” 

He would. “Then why this facade?”

“I was afraid? It’s our job to hunt deviants, and now I am one. Mr. Kamski wasn’t far from the truth.”

“You’re still an ass.” Connor walks into the bathroom, grabbing a small wad of toilet paper and wiping his eyes. He blows his nose too, then tosses it into the toilet. When he walks back, he nods to the door, “Okay, lets go on our walk, but you’re not getting out of talking about this morning.”

Hank looks confused so Connor sighs, brushing past him out into the chilly winter air, “What?”

“This morning?”

“Don’t start that again.”

Hank’s laugh surprises Connor, prompting him to stop partway down the driveway and stare. The android’s mirth dissolves as quickly as it came, “Have I done something wrong, Detective?”

“I’ve never heard you laugh before.” Connor makes a note to do his best to hear that noise every day. To be the cause of that noise.

“Oh. I’m sor-“

“No,” he interrupts, gently taking Hank’s hand in his, “I love it.”


	2. Rise and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revolution comes to an end just as the FBI takes over the case. Hank goes into hiding with Gavin, and Nines and Connor try to make it to the other side

Some say admitting it is the hardest part. Connor looks across his desk at his outrageously handsome, ever serious partner and begs to differ. Admitting it with Hank was easy. Their walk over the weekend was fun. One would think it would have been awkward but it wasn’t. They admitted their feelings and simply moved on. No ‘where to now’s or ‘how will we handle this after the rebellion, especially if it fails and you go back to Cyberlife, and I’m suddenly left alone, Hank I can’t live without you’s. Well, that last one came up, but Hank simply sat him down on a park bench and held him.

No, the hardest part for Connor is the unknown. He’s admitted his feelings and they are reciprocated, but Androids are not yet free. Connor and Hank were called in that morning to be told simply that they’re off the case. Hank is being allowed to stay as a ‘consultant’ to the FBI. But with the FBI in charge, Connor has no way of knowing how close either side is to being successful.

Now they’re left sitting, twiddling their thumbs, while the FBI scours Connor’s terminal for any ‘hidden details’. Apparently Perkins doesn’t think Connor was being entirely honest when he handed over his modest stack of evidence and reports earlier. No, the truth of the matter was simply that Connor doesn’t have much to go off.

He scoots his chair back slightly as an agent leans down, poking their head under his desk as if he’d be hiding a special Deviant Detection system down there. Perkins hovers over his shoulder, and Connor feels boxed in. Surrounded by enemies. Claustrophobic. 

With a small sigh, Connor stands from his chair, only to have a heavy too-warm hand land on his shoulder, pushing him back down into his seat, “Where the fuck you think you’re going?”

“I gotta take a leak, Perkins. Would you care to join me? Make sure I don’t have Markus down my pants?”

“Funny. I know you’re hiding something. The information you’ve gathered isn’t nearly enough to get as far as you’ve gotten.”

“I’m damn good at what I do. Now, if you don’t want me pissing on your agent here, I’d suggest you let go.” He tries to stand again and Perkins lets him, but steps in his way,

“I’ll say it again, you watch your step. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I’ll find it.”

Despite his obvious effort to be intimidating, Perkins stands quite a few inches shorter than Connor. Invading Connor’s space didn’t pay off how Perkins likely hoped and Connor stands very comfortably a few centimeters from the shorter man, staring into his beady eyes with a bland smile.

“I’m hiding my insatiable lust to make your life as difficult as possible, Agent.” He shoves past, finally sick of being treated like a suspect. Perkins moves easily and Connor walks to the bathroom. He makes eye contact with Nines on his way, and his brother nods in response.

Relationships between Androids and the FBI have been agitated. While Nines doesn’t know what happened between Connor and Hank, it’s likely he suspects something. Which is why, as Connor looks back out through the closing bathroom door, Nines has turned his seat to face Connor’s desk, watching the Agents dig about. 

As Connor’s washing his hands, after doing his business, he stares at himself in the mirror. He’s cleaned up a bit; finally got his hair cut the other day, mostly thanks to Hank making the appointment. His shirt is clean and _ironed_. Connor didn’t even know he had an iron. Even the bags under his eyes look less heavy than usual.

Why Hank decided to attach himself to a walking, talking disaster escapes Connor. He’s just glad it happened. Even his nightmares have slowed down, since Hank has taken to laying in bed with Connor.

The door into the bathroom opens and Hank walks in. Calm and collected until the door shuts, then he sags against the counter, “What a prick.”

Connor snorts, “You don’t gotta tell me that.”

Hank makes eye contact through the mirror, “I’m worried they’ll find Markus.”

“Not even we could find Markus, and I had _you._ ”

“I’m so sure I missed something. I need to dig deeper, or find a way to contact him…” Hank gets a distant look and a slow smile creeps over his face, “I can…”

“Can what?”

Hank abruptly turns on Connor, grabbing his upper arms and shaking his smaller frame, “I can contact Markus. I have his serial number, I can open a comm link.”

Surprised, Connor blinks, wide-eyed, “Um… will he want to talk to you?”

“I can send a message through. He’ll get the message and from there he can choose to accept and respond.”

Connor nods slowly, “Like… like how messages used to be on Instagram?”

Hank tilts his head, offering an indulgent smile, “Yes, Detective.”

“Don’t-“ Connor shakes off Hank’s hold, “Don’t patronize me! Send your stupid message.” He ignores the enraptured smile on Hank’s face and walks out of the bathroom. He refuses to be treated like some senile dog, no matter how cute.

He scowls at Perkins, now seated in his desk chair, “Get up. Get out. You have the shit you came for.”

Perkins, the fucker, doesn’t move, “I wonder about your android.”

Connor refuses to give anything away, simply crossing his arms and glaring down at the man.

Regardless, Perkins continues, “Are you sure it’s not deviant too?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

Hank’s voice sounds from behind Connor, “I self test regularly and report all findings back to CyberLife. If they suspect anything I would be decommissioned immediately.”

Though Connor hides it well, he feels his back stiffen at the thought of Hank being ‘decommissioned’. After a few seconds of silence from Perkins, Connor steps forward, “Get out of my chair, Perkins.”

Finally, the man stands, “Don’t think this is over, Stern. I will find what you’re hiding.”

Connor sneers, bodily shoving past the shorter man, “Oh I’m so _scared_.” He sits heavily in his now uncomfortably warm chair and glares daggers into Perkins’ back as he leaves the precinct.

Hank perches on the edge of Connor’s desk and waits slightly longer before speaking quietly, “Markus responded.”

“Not here. Let’s get lunch.” He stands and slings his jacket on, grabbing his keys and nearly running into Nines, “Jesus, Nines! Make some damn noise!”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry

“What?”

“Gavin and I would like to join you.”

Connor frowns, “Okay…”

Nines’ expression gives away nothing, he simply nods and returns to his desk, speaking softly to Gavin and grabbing his jacket. Soon, they’re both walking back to Hank and Connor.

“I assume I’m driving?”

A grin settles on Nines’ face, “Please. I drove the bike today.”

Connor grins, “Okay. What are we craving?”

Before Nines can speak, Hank interjects, “Something with vegetables at least.”

Connor makes prolonged eye contact with Nines, telepathically bitching about his overbearing bear of an android. He clearly doesn’t receive the message, “How do sandwiches sound, then?”

Instead of verbally responding, Connor just starts towards the parking lot, listening to his small army follow along. Nines sits in the passenger, while Gavin and Hank sit in the back. Thankfully, Nines waits until Connor has the car parked before beginning his interrogation,

“Hank is deviant, isn’t he.”

“Gavin is deviant, isn’t he.”

Connor stares at Nines, holding the icy glare of his brother. Neither speaks, prompting Gavin to speak up, “Yes, everyone is deviant, can we stop the staring contest?”

Armed with the semblance of a win, Connor presses, “You guys fuck yet?”

That surprises Nines, who raises his eyebrows, then quickly looks away to hide the growing blush. Again, it’s Gavin that responds, “Yes.”

A grin splits Connor’s face and Nines growls, climbing out of the car, “Honestly, Con. You’re so juvenile.”

“How is it?” Connor jumps out of the car, following Nines closely, “Does he top? Nah, it’s gotta be you, right? What’s it like? Niiiines!”

Nines whirls on him, eyes angry over the fading blush and Connor stops dead as Nines speaks, “Why the hell do you want to know so bad!”

Connor subconsciously looks at Hank, then back to Nines and understanding hits. His brother relaxes significantly, “Ah. But not yet?”

“No.”

Connor feels like an open book before the intimidating gaze of his brother. Nines turns to Gavin and Hank, “Will you two go in and order for us, please? We need to talk.”

Both androids walk into the sandwich shop and Connor drifts back to his car, sitting on the hood. Nines joins him shortly after, “What happened?”

“Hank went deviant the morning I… before he called you. Apparently one of his directives or missions or whatever was to give me a gun.” He feels Nines stiffen at his side, “Yeah, we both know what I would have done. Apparently that’s when he broke his programming. Then we almost… shit, I don’t know what happened. You told him to make sure I ate, I was going to ignore you and he boxed me in? Didn’t realize that was a turn on until… Well, apparently Hank thought so too. I thought he was going to kiss me but he backed away. We talked it through, so everything is fine. But we haven’t gotten closer since.”

“And you want to know how to approach him?”

“I mean, yeah? I just don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“Does he know how you feel?”

“Probably?”

“Well.” Nines shifts slightly, “Probably the best way would be to tell him.” He holds up a hand, stopping Connor’s snarky response, “Seriously, Con. Just tell him. Be as candid as you can and explain to him that he’s still welcome in your home and in your life if he doesn’t reciprocate. Straightforward is the best way to be with Androids.”

“Is that how it happened between you and Gavin?”

“Not quite.” Connor shifts closer, smiling like a child gearing up to hear their favorite fairy tale. Nines laughs, “I don’t even know when he first became deviant. I only noticed something was off when we sat down to watch a movie and he actually paid attention. I asked, and he told me the truth. Then he… kept telling the truth.” Nines rubs his neck, his blush back on his cheeks, “He told me he was sure he had fallen in love with me. Of course I was hesitant, he’d only just become deviant, right? How does he have any idea what it’s like? Upon getting confirmation that I felt the same, he made his advance…”

“Gavin started it?!”

Nines gets a far off look and smiles, “Yeah.”

Connor stares at him and frowns when he shivers, “You were just imagining it, weren’t you.”

Nines gives a small wave to the androids now returning with bags of food and stands, “Yep.”

“Really, Nines? On the hood of my car?” Connor grabs a blanket from his trunk and spreads it out on a nearby patch of grass, settling next to Hank and pulling his sandwich from the bag,

“Okay, what did you get me?”

“Chicken, bacon, and ranch. With a good amount of vegetables and _please_ do not pick them off.”

“You are aware that I don’t hate vegetables, right?” Connor takes a bite, chews and swallows, then turns on Hank, “So, you got in contact with Markus?”

Hank briefly looks over at Nines and Gavin, then nods, “Yes. He was weary at first, but he has agreed to meet. We are going to interface, so he knows I am what I say. He’ll have a few of his people with him.”

“Want me to be your backup?”

Hank reaches out and wipes a small bit of ranch off Connor’s lip, “I’d appreciate that.”

He starts organizing the drinks from the bag, leaving Connor a little shocked and a lot turned on. Connor looks over at Nines, to find the man stifling laughter in the wrapping of his sandwich. 

Connor glares at Nines and returns his focus to his sandwich. Gavin, who is usually very outspoken and obnoxious, discreetly leans over and whispers in Nines' ear. Connor and Hank watch the exchange, how Nines' expression goes from humor to shock, 

“They what? There’s no way they can know.”

Gavin shrugs, “That’s just what Tina heard.”

Nines frowns down at his sandwich and Gavin looks at Hank and Connor, “The FBI suspect that Hank and I are working with the deviants.”

Connor feels sick, slowly lowering his sandwich to the blanket, “They aren’t wrong…”

“They’ve also figured out where the deviants are hiding. Hank, we need to warn them.”

Hank stands, walking a few steps away to make the call. Nines looks at Gavin, “What are you planning?”

“I need to help them. I need to stay hidden. Both of us.”

It takes a long few moments for Nines to nod his agreement, “You’re right. You should go now, they’re probably tracking me and Connor.”

“They are.” Hank returns but doesn’t sit, “They’ll be here in ten. Gavin, Markus has given us the location to their new hideout. He’s evacuating.” 

They all stand and Connor looks at Hank, “Be safe, yeah?”

“Of course.”

No chance. No opportunity to tell Hank all he wants to. It has to be quick. Connor swallows his pride, “Hank, I… I’ve got…” He looks at the ground, “Come back to me safe, Hank.”

Hank gently kisses his temple, “I promise.”

Nines and Gavin separate from a hug and if Nines’ eyes are a little wet, no one comments. The androids hurry away, leaving the brothers standing side by side.

“So what else did the FBI want…”

Nines sits back down with a sigh, “They think you’re the cause of Hank going deviant.”

Connor paces, “So they’re grasping at straws.”

“Yeah.” 

Both men look up at the rumble of approaching vehicles and Connor hugs himself. This cannot end well.

..

“Where are the deviants hiding?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

The man strikes Connor across the face again, with force enough to throw him from his seat if not for the ropes holding him in place.

Connor huffs, “You think hitting me is going to make me suddenly omnipotent?”

“This is treason.”

“The fuck are you on about?”

“I know you know where they are.”

Connor shifts his legs, avoiding answering because he knows he’ll just be rewarded with another hit. They’ve been at this for what feels like days, but is likely only hours. The FBI separated the brothers and brought Connor to what appears to be an empty interrogation room. One bright light, one chair, and Connor strapped so securely it would take industrial scissors to break free. Their interrogation methods leave something to be desired. Rather than how the DPD typically handles things, the FBI has no issue beating their wards.

Connor has already lost a tooth, likely has some broken bones, probably a concussion. He’s almost expecting them to break out pliers and rip his finger nails off.

Apparently he takes too long finding an answer because the man hits him again. Punching him in the stomach so hard bile rises in his throat again. He coughs wetly, spitting onto the floor.

“Tell me where they are.”

“Even if I fuckin knew.” Connor glares at the man, receiving another fierce punch, causing Connor’s teeth to cut into his lips. After he recovers, he gives the man a bloody grin, “You’ll get nowhere.” 

The man scowls and walks from the room, leaving Connor alone for the first time since arriving. He casts a quick look around the room, giving a double take to the camera in the corner. They’re recording this? This is next-level illegal. Torture? They can’t do this.

Can they?

Connor starts as another man walks in. Bigger, angrier than the last. He walks a slow circle around Connor, then squats in front of the chair,

“Connor, right?” when he doesn’t get a response, the man lays a large hand on Connor’s knee, “You aren’t looking so good, kid. Why don’t you just tell us what we need to know, heh?”

Connor raises a skeptical eyebrow and the man nods, standing up and moving behind the chair, running a hand through Connor’s hair, “I know, I know. You keep saying you don’t know where they are but…” He yanks Connor’s head to the side and hisses in his ear, “You’ve been fucking that robo-cop. There’s no way you’d let it go without knowing.”

Again, Connor remains silent and the man roughly shoves his head forward, “We’re getting fucking tired of your games. Boss is trying to gather up all the androids to be destroyed. We just can’t find the deviants. That’s where you come in… tell us where they’re hiding, and we’ll let you have your little sex toy back.”

Connor lifts his head, turning as if he’s going to speak. The man gets closer, anticipating, and Connor breathes, 

“Get fucked.”

“You little-” he grabs Connor’s hair again, throwing him, chair and all, to the ground. In seconds he’s on top of Connor, giving his head one hard slam against the concrete flooring. The room goes black for a long moment and when he manages to open his eyes again, he’s kneeling in front of a bucket of water with two men to either side of him. Connor tries to laugh, but it comes out a rattling cough,

“Water? Y’all are just running down a checklist of torture methods? What’s next? Lynching?”

That earns him a savage kick to the ribs, and as his breath wheezes out, his head gets shoved under. He manages to clamp his mouth shut for a few seconds, but the burning need to breathe overwhelms him and he takes in a mouthful of water.

As soon as he draws in water, they pull him out, hitting his back hard enough to expel it. When Connor pulls in a shaky breath, they shove his head back under. This repeats often enough for Connor to lose track of just how many times he feels like he nearly dies. 

They pull him from the water again, and Connor blearily notes the almost rust red color of the water. He coughs hard enough to spit both water and blood, and whimpers when one of the men pulls on his hair again. He’s forced to look at the man as he speaks,

“Tell us where they are.” Connor opens his mouth to lie, anything to get them to stop, but the man interrupts, “I gotta warn ya, kid. This only stops when we find them, not when you answer.”

The hot rush of tears is a welcome change to the near overwhelming agony. Connor gives a small hopeless smile, “You’ll end up killing me, then… I don’t know where they are.” 

An ear splitting ring sounds through the room and the man drops his head. Connor slouches like a wilted flower and listens to the men. Whatever is happening, the men are worried. With barely a ‘yes sir’, they leave him. Arms bound behind his back, slouched on the hard cement floor, blood dripping from his chin. He wonders how long it’s been. How are Hank and Gavin? Where’s Nines? Did Markus win? Did Markus lose?

He’s unsure of the time that passes, just that the blood dripping from his face has dried and he can’t quite feel his feet anymore. The light in the room is blinding to him now, so he just sits with his eyes closed. 

The sound of the door opening again makes Connor try to pry his eyes open. It’s harder than he remembers, his eyelids feel cemented together. Before he can force them apart, warm soft hands envelope his face, cupping his cheeks and gently rubbing over his eyes,

“Connor? Con, please wake up.”

Why is Nines here?

“I swear to god, Connor, I’ll make them pay. Fowler is already up in arms, Gavin has the recorded footage, just please fucking wake up.”

He tries to speak. Tries to tell Nines, ‘I’m awake’ but all that he manages is a weak groan. It’s enough, because Nines chokes on a sob, 

“Okay, you’re okay. We’ll get you to a hospital, hang in there ok? For me?”

Connor feels Nines move away, the vague sound of pictures being taken, then the warmth is back. Nines gently swipes a wet thumb over Connor’s eyes and helps him work them open.

He’s crying.

“Nines?”

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

He wants to push. Wants to fight the fuckers that hurt Nines. But goddamn he’s tired. Nines helps him to his feet, practically carries him from the room, through the winding halls, out into an ambulance. Nines just about bites the head off the EMT when they suggest he ride separately, and sits beside Connor. A silent vigil.

Connor is barely aware of his surroundings. He sees the EMT, a young man. Watches him poke and prod, and vaguely hears his questions. He sees Nines, listens to the calming hum of his voice as he answers the questions he can. Watches the tears fall when the EMT says something, offering only a nod in return.

Connor tries to speak again, but it comes out as a whisper, “Hey…”

Nines looks at him, “Hey, Con. You okay?”

Connor reaches up, swiping a finger over a tear track on Nines’ cheek, “Why…?”

“Nothing. We’ll get you fixed right up.”

He wants to chastise his older brother. Wants to stomp his feet and demand the truth. But something in Nines’ normally icey blue eyes stops him, like maybe he doesn’t want to know. 

The lurch of the ambulance startles him. The EMT shields his eyes from the overhead lights of the hospital and Connor winces at the harsh shouts and beeps sounding in the room he’s brought to. A young nurse gently brings a mask up to Connor’s face and gives him a comforting smile.

“Count backwards from ten with me, sweetheart. 10… 9…”

Connor gives her a look, but whispers along, “8… 7… 6…”

He blinks his eyes open, and frowns at the sterile room. There’s a small tray with a cup of water, coffee, and a bottle of juice. He barely considers reaching for the water when a different nurse walks in. She looks surprised to see him awake, but recovers quickly.

“Hello, dear.” She starts checking the different machines attached to him, “I’ll go tell your brother you’re awake. How are we feeling?”

“Confused… thirsty.” He looks around the room, “Dizzy.” he frowns as his tongue moves over an empty space in his mouth, “I’m missing teeth?”

She gives him a sympathetic smile, “I’ll go over everything in about fifteen minutes. This water is for you and I’ll go get your brother. Drink slowly, please.”

He carefully grabs the cup of water, sipping it slowly. He moves his tongue around his mouth, frowning at the cuts he finds and wiggling around in the space a tooth should be. He looks up when the door opens again and smiles as Nines practically runs to the bed,

“Connor! Oh thank god you’re awake, I was so scared!”

“Fit as a fiddle.” he gently grabs Nines’ hand, then lets go, staring down at the gauze, “Did you give blood?”

“Yeah, you lost too much.”

Connor is sure the expression he makes is comical, but he can’t stop himself from going wide eyed and giving a massive pout as tears drip down his cheeks again, “Nines…”

“Hey, now, don’t cry… I’ve got plenty and I’m a match to you.”

“I lost…” he gasps, startling the nurse a little, “Nines! The revolution!”

“Markus won, Con.”

“Gavin?”

“He’s safe. He’s helping us with the FBI and downloa-”

“What about Hank?!”

The nurse gently pushes in and adjusts the machines again, “Dear you need to calm down for me, deep breaths, okay?”

He takes a few deep breaths, enough for the Nurse to be satisfied and back off slightly. Nines looks at Connor, “I know he’s okay, I just don’t know where he is…”

Don’t know where he is. Connor looks down at the bed. His fingers clenching wrinkles into the sheets. Hank is free. He’s probably gone. _I should have told him._

“You called him?”

“Left a message.”

Connor nods, “Right. So, what’s the damage with me?”

The nurse gently pats his leg, “That tooth you mentioned, some cuts and bruises that should heal no problem, a concussion and a few fractured ribs. Some bed rest and you’ll be back to work before you know it.”

His stay in the hospital is blessedly brief, having proven his concussion isn’t severe enough to justify holding him longer. Nines hovers like a mother hen all the way to the car. Connor turns on him and presses a hand to his chest, 

“I can open the door by myself, Nines.”

“I know, but… be careful with yourself.”

Connor gets in, carefully. Despite his stubborn nature, he knows to take it slow. He gingerly clicks his seatbelt into place and offers a pained smile to Nines as he climbs in.

He drives with an overabundance of caution, and helps Connor back into his home.

“Gavin recovered your stuff. Phone and wallet and keys and whatnot…”

Connor looks around his empty house, wishing not for the first time that he’d adopted that adorable Border Collie he and Hank met last weekend. 

“Con?”

Connor jumps slightly and winces, looking over at Nines, “Yeah?”

“You okay?” His brows are drawn together, “You look sad.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, “Okay… Gav and I will stop by at least every day, okay?” He watches as Connor slowly moves to the couch and frowns, “You sure you don’t want to stay with us?”

“Yeah, I’d only be in the way. I’m fine, Nines. Really. And I’ll call you if I’m not.” They both know it’s a lie. But Nines reluctantly nods, heading for the door,

“Get some sleep, Con.”

The silence after he leaves is deafening.

Connor looks at the counter near the entryway, the bowl he leaves his phone and keys in is lit slightly, probably just a confirmation text from Nines. He should grab it, see what his brother sent him, call his therapist and get another session in, order food. Why doesn’t he? Easy enough to stand and grab the phone, it’s not like he’s planning on sleeping anytime soon. The night terrors have new fuel.

Connor’s eyes drift to his service weapon. It’s been a while since he’s discharged it, but maybe it needs cleaning, he should be cleaning it every night but there are some nights he’s not sure what his hands would do if he held the weapon. Without Hank here to stop him…

Maybe he should call Hank. No. No, that’s a bad idea. Hank is free, doesn’t have to come back to his failure of an ex-partner. A harsh sob tries to force its way through his body, but he holds it back, only crying out as the motion sends searing pain through his fractured ribs. With tears prickling his eyes, Connor stands. Grabbing the phone and the meds.

With his bounty, Connor sits back down, taking one of the pain pills the nurse had given him and scrolling through his messages. Most from Nines, a few calls from Fowler, some emails from lawyers about his last run-in with the FBI. Nothing from Hank.

He sighs and tosses the phone to the side. This FBI fiasco is going to be a nightmare. What, are they going to press charges against a government organization? Fowler is handling it, but how? His eyes drift to the gun again. It sure would be easy to just-

No. 

He grits his teeth and turns on the tv, flips it to nickelodeon or some shit and picks up his phone again. He dials the therapeutic office and schedules an appointment for tomorrow. His eyes pull at the gun again and he huffs, grabbing it and slouching to his bedroom to lock it in the gun safe. He knows he’s not able to open it unconscious.

Not for lack of trying.

He spins the lock after securing the gun and returns to the couch. He pulls his laptop closer and opens the animal shelter’s website, filling an application for the dog he’d visited with Hank. A companion would be… nice. A best friend. He sends the application and turns his attention to the tv, mindlessly watching a rerun of fairy odd parents. One episode turns to two, which turns to five, and eventually he dozes away on the couch. 

The nights following are much the same. He rests as much as he’s physically able to and falls asleep watching mindless cartoon reruns. His therapist worries about him, his brother worries more, the animal shelter calls and approves his application. Each night when he lays back down, he fears the nightmares, but they never come. Four days pass and he starts to think maybe the couch helps, but when he falls asleep that night,

_”Connor? Connor, dear, it’s time for school.”_

_His mother’s too sweet voice comes from the hallway, he watches her crack his door open and walk in, the ring of keys around her wrist jingling like a jail warden. He doesn’t dare look at Nines._

_“Jana, baby, you too.”_

_He watches her go to Nines first, unlocking his chains and handing him a pile of feminine clothes before turning to Connor,_

_“It’s almost your birthday, did you forget?”_

_He never forgets._

_She kneels beside his bed, eyes flickering to his broken leg, a gift from her. He’d been late coming home from school because a counselor wanted to ask about his black eye and she’d thrown him down the basement stairs._

_He tries not to flinch when she raises her hand, but he fails. She glares at him,_

_“I won't hurt you, my dear boy. These wounds you have hurt me even more… Why don’t you just listen to me?”_

_He doesn’t respond. She doesn’t want a response. She lifts his thin wrist and unlocks the cuffs that chain him to the bed. She helps him get dressed, and even helps him up the stairs. When they reach the top, he worries she’ll throw him down again. He hopes his neck breaks next time._

_She doesn’t. He sits at the table and looks down when he feels rope coiling around his body, like a snake, binding him to the seat. When he looks up, he’s staring into the black eyes of a stranger. A faceless man in a suit._

_It’s the interrogation room. He holds back his screams until they start ripping his nails off. Until they start breaking his bones._

_They stop when Hank walks in. They’re talking but Connor only sees Hank. He tries to tell him to run, to fight back and hide. But he doesn’t hear._

_Nines is brought in too, bruised and battered. A mirror image of what they’d done to Connor. One of the suits lets Connor stand and presses a gun into his hand. He can’t hear over the raging blood in his ears. His arm lifts of its own accord._

_His aim wavers between Nines and Hank._

_One of the agents touches his shoulder and Connor squeezes his eyes shut, he doesn’t want to see who he shoots, as his finger tightens on the gun and the shot rings out._

Sweat clings to his body as he jolts up from the couch. He works to slow his breathing, looks around for his pain medication. He’s reaching for it when another shot rings out. He throws himself to the floor of his living room. What the hell is happening? He’s being shot at? His neighbors? 

He gets up, ignoring the pain of his wounds, and runs to the window. No time to grab his gun but if he can see. Another bang and he ducks again. He drops to the ground and crawls to the door. He stands and carefully looks outside, just barely opening his door.

There his neighbor stands, muttering expletives at his car and wincing with the next backfire. Connor sighs, their car backfires in colder weather. He slumps against the wall and takes deep breaths.

When his heart rate is back to normal, he grabs his phone and dials Nines,

_”Good morning, baby brother.”_

Connor rolls his eyes, “Hi, Nines. I’m heading to the shelter today, d’ya wanna come with?”

_”If I ever say no to an offer to meet dogs, assume someone has taken over my identity.”_

He snorts, “Alright, I’ll see you there…” He checks his watch, “At one?”

_“Wanna meet at the Starbucks?”_

“You damn caffeine junkie.”

_”Coffee is better than Red Bull.”_

“Starbucks works, ass.” he hangs up, smiling despite his tone.

Connor sets his phone down and looks around his home. Definitely not clean, but he can clean once he returns with the dog. Dogs don’t care if there’s a shirt on the ground, right? He takes a shower, and finds himself in front of his closet. He keeps it simple, his favorite sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. He unlocks the safe and holsters his gun, sliding the badge into his pocket too. 

He looks like shit still, bags under his eyes, bruises barely faded. He shrugs and grabs his keys, walking in the direction he’s meant to meet his brother.

Nines smiles at him outside the coffee shop, but his smile slowly fades, “Con… You look like shit.”

Connor accepts the offered cup, “Thanks. I had a nightmare last night…”

“Just a nightmare?” Nines sounds cautious, taking a careful sip of his latte

“Yeah, I remembered it.” He lifts the drink and takes an investigative sniff, then a slow sip

Nines watches him with an unamused raised eyebrow, “It’s a latte, not a bomb.”

“Flavor?”

“The barista suggested toffee nut.”

Connor takes a deeper sip and hums, “It’s yummy.”

“You baby.” Nines links their unoccupied arms and starts walking, “So, paperwork is done, the pooch is up to date, you have everything you need… All that’s left is the name.”

“I think I’ll need to be in the moment to choose.”

“The last time you saw this dog you went with Hank, right?”

The memory still kinda hurts. Hank had deviated and ran errands with Connor. They slept in the same bed that weekend, and Connor hadn’t had a single nightmare, wrapped as he was in Hank’s arms,

“Yeah.”

“What did Hank think?”

“Nines.”

His brother watches him for a few seconds, then nods, “I’m sorry…” a pregnant pause stretches between them before Nines speaks again, “You know, he might come back. He promised.”

“He hasn’t called.” Connor pretends to focus on stepping over a puddle to wrangle his emotions, they’re almost to the door of the humane society, “I’ve been brushed off enough to guess-”

“Hey. He is not Todd. He’s not any of the douchebags you’ve been with.”

“Not yet.”

“Con-”

Connor stops and faces his brother, “I don’t really want to talk about this right now.” 

By the look on his face, Nines feels Connor’s pain. He nods, “Sorry, I just want you to be happy.”

Connor doesn’t even have the energy to lie. Just shrugging and pulling open the door.

...

A name.

Connor sits in the ‘meeting room’ with the beautiful Border Collie he’d fallen for last time. He’s older, 6 or 7, but he still plays like a puppy, currently happily fighting with a kong Connor brought from home. Nines is holding the paper, ready to pen a name as soon as Connor picks one.

“I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“He’s a dog, Con. There isn’t much of a way to mess that up.”

Connor thinks back to when he and Hank visited, swallowing the pain of the memory. When Connor originally fell in love with this goon. Hank said his eyes and curiosity and overall loving but protective demeanor reminded him of a fire marshall. Connor thought the comparison was weird as all hell, but the dog bounded around excitedly, as if he was saying ‘I love that name! I love you!’ and leapt up into Hank’s arms like he belonged there.

Maybe he does.

“Marshall.”

The Collie’s ears perk when Connor says the new name, immediately pulling his attention to his new owner. Nines nods,

“Cute.”

Despite being in a shelter, Marshall is remarkably well trained. He doesn’t pull at Connor, sits happily by his side at stop lights, and even looks up at him upon seeing a passing human. They stop at the mid-point between his home and Nines and Connor hugs his brother,

“Thanks for coming with me today.”

“You’ll be okay getting home?”

Connor nods, motioning to his dog, “I’ve got protection.”

He watches Nines walk away, before turning towards his own home. He fishes his keys out of his pocket, talking idly to Marshall,

“Almost to your new home, buddy. I hope you’ll like it, gotta warn you though, my nightmares get pretty bad. Hope I don’t spook you.”

The nights are easier with Marshall. The nightmares don’t stop, but often Connor is woken by the wet tongue of his new housemate. His new housemate that has quickly wrapped Connor around one of his paws.

Connor watches Marshall eat, smiling at his tail whipping at max velocity. Marshall knows that after breakfast, they play outside. He also seems to know that Connor can’t play as much or as aggressively as either wants, so he stays gentle, letting go of the rope before he can get too excited and settling for a walk, instead of a run.

Connor shifts on his chair, lifting his coffee to his mouth and snorts as Marshall whips his head around,

“Just coffee, bud. You wouldn’t like it.”

The dog simply sits and tilts his head. He isn’t begging. No, when he begs, he begs hard. He’s just listening.

“Man, a week with you and I’m already figuring out your mannerisms. I’m gonna have to get back to work soon. Think you’ll be okay alone?” Marshall moves closer, resting his head on Connor’s thigh, “Yeah, you’ll be okay.” he idly strokes the velvet fur of the dog’s head and finishes his coffee.

When he sets the cup down, Marshall bounds to the back door, tail wagging so hard his back end moves with it. Connor stands by the door and puts his hand on the knob,

“Sit.”

Marshall sits, practically vibrating with excitement as Connor opens the door. He tests Marshall’s limits each day. Today, Connor gets completely out of sight, then calls out,

“Meet!”

Marshall zips around the side of the house, tongue hanging wildly out his mouth as he runs laps around the back yard. He needs nothing from Connor but company, and Connor is all too happy to watch his ridiculous dog speed around the yard until the call of nature hits him.

Happy.

Connor takes out his phone and films the dog as he barrels across the grass, only to try to stop suddenly and somersault head over paws. Connor bursts into laughter, doubling over and dropping to his knees. His ribs ache something fierce, but the concerned nudge of Marshall’s nose just makes him laugh harder. Marshall pushes at him and Connor rolls onto his back, letting out breathless giggles as Marshall licks his face.

He pats the dogs head, enough of a sign that he’s alright, apparently, and Marshall runs off to do his business. Connor lifts the phone, stopping the video and considering cutting it, then shrugs and sends the entire clip to Nines.

He pockets the phone and looks up in time to see Marshall do his business. Connor, like a good dog owner, grabs a little plastic bag and picks up the dog’s poop. He tosses it in the bin and whistles to Marshall to come inside. Once inside, Marshall goes to his water bowl and Connor washes his hands in the sink.

His phone chimes and he looks at it, after drying his hands.

_Niner 8:32am: ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh so hard. You two are fucking cute.’_

_Connor 8:33am: ‘He’s the best bundle of serotonin.’_

_Niner 8:33am: ‘Still wanna meet for lunch?’_

_Connor 8:34am: ‘At that sandwich place?’_

_Niner 8:35am: ‘ye’_

Connor snorts at the typo,

_Connor 8:36am: ‘Sounds good. Don’t bring your clingy boyfriend. I don’t want to see any pda.’_

He doesn’t want to say he misses hanging out with Nines. He misses having his brother around. He misses… he looks at the door and finally lets himself admit it,

“I miss you, Hank.”

His phone chiming sends his heart fluttering. The stupid, hopeful glee that it’s Hank rises up like bile and he tries not to feel too disappointed that it’s only his brother,

_Niner 8:42am: ‘Only if you promise to bring Marshall.’_

The menace is taking over every heart he comes into contact with. Connor watches Marshall move to the living room and flop dramatically on his bed, letting out a heavy sigh.

He laughs, “Oh, is that how you feel?”

Another huff.

Connor moves to join him, settling on the couch before patting the cushion next to him, “I think you deserve some extra love today, whaddya say, boy?”

Marshall leaps onto the couch and curls up snugly against Connor’s leg, resting his head happily on his thigh. Connor turns on his switch, then promptly gets distracted petting Marshall.

Somehow, in the span of a week, this dog has become such a major part of Connor’s life. Like they were made to be family. Like he belongs here. 

His eyes burn at the memory. Of Hank holding Marshall’s wiggling body and grinning at Connor. The teasing smile when Connor picked up a donut from a bakery. The comfort of his arms, of knowing that Hank can and will fight away anything that might try to hurt Connor. The teasing banter at their desks, always working to put a smile on Connor’s face.

Connor sighs and focuses on the game he has pulled up. Stardew Valley. Mindless, innocent, monotonous. He loses himself in it. In his garden, restoring the Community Center, talking to the townspeople.

Marshall wakes with a soft ‘boof’ as Connor’s alarm goes off. He’s suddenly glad he’d set it. He quickly saves the game and gets up, throwing on clean jeans and his DPD hoodie and grabbing his usual stuff. 

Standing at the door with Marshall he checks himself over again, muttering aloud to his dog,

“Keys, phone, wallet, gun, badge, leash, poop bags, water bowl… I think that’s everything. Ready to go see Nines again?”

The walk to the Sandwich shop is longer than Connor is used to, but it feels so good being able to stretch his legs and seeing Marshall greet every passing being possible makes it all worth it. He also happily notices significantly more Androids on the streets. Out with their lovers, or walking alone in a park. He laughs to himself, these beings are probably the most formidable fighters on the planet and some humans still have the lack of sense to pick a fight with them?

He’s so glad Markus won.

Marshall lets out a harsh bark, snapping Connor from his reverie. Initially he believes Marshall is trying to approach someone who doesn’t want to be approached, but the collie is standing protectively between Connor and the approaching person.

“Marshall, what’s gotten into you? I’m sorry, he’s not normally-”

His blood runs cold and his limbs lock in place. Standing before him, smug as can be, is Perkins.

“You don’t look too good, Stern.”


	3. Catch and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Nines maintain their brotherly bond, and Hank comes home.
> 
> Tensions rise

“Perkins.” Connor reaches out to soothe Marshall, now growling at the FBI agent.

Agent Perkins looks at the dog with apathy, “Trading one pet for another, Stern?”

“Fuck you.” he gives Marshall’s collar a gentle tug and starts walking away, focused only on getting away from the man. He has no reason to be afraid, aside from the fact that Perkins works for the people who tortured him and that he almost killed Markus and the small group of androids that were protesting. 

He has plenty of reasons to be afraid. 

“Stern.”

Connor pauses, turning his head slightly, but not giving the man his full attention, “What.”

“This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

Connor knows a threat when he hears one. He turns around fully, and gives the man a grin, “Oh, I’m counting on that. Ta ta for now, Agent Perkins.” he keeps walking down the road, and once he turns a corner, he picks up his pace.

He’s anxious, he’s hungry, and he’s late. When the sandwich shop comes into view, he spots Nines stretched out in a patio chair, reading a book and nursing a mug of something hot. He looks up when Connor approaches and raises an eyebrow,

“Everything okay?”

“I ran into Perkins.”

Nines straightens and sets his dog-eared book down, turning his full attention to Connor, “What? There’s no reason he should be near your street.”

“He was looking for me.” Connor hands over Marshall’s leash, “Hungry?”

Nines takes it and nods, “Yeah, I haven’t… I wanted to wait for you.” he starts to stand but Connor waves him off, moving to the door,

“I’ll cover it today.”

Connor orders and carries their food out to Nines, setting it down and filling Marshall’s water bowl with a bottle.

“So, Nines… What happened to you when the FBI separated us?”

Nines takes a sip from his cup and carefully sets it down, “They just stuck me in a room.”

“That’s it?”

He nods, looking guilty, “I’m sorry, Connor.”

Connor looks at him, “Nines no… No, that’s good.” He reaches out and grabs his brother’s hand, “You shouldn’t feel guilty because of how they treated you. I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” He lets Nines consider that before continuing, “How’s work?”

“Good.” he starts picking at his food, significantly more comfortable with this line of questions, “Your desk is almost back in one piece and all the evidence from… pretty much everything is back in order.”

Connor nods, swallowing a bite, “Gavin working with you?”

“Not officially. Not yet. He helps me with cases and keeps me company though. And he’s helping with your case.”

“How’s that going?”

Nines huffs slightly, having just taken a bite, and works through the piece. Swallowing, “I don’t know. Fowler isn’t letting me near the case. Too personal.”

They fall into companionable silence and eat, Connor occasionally slips Marshall a slice of chicken. They sit quietly after having eaten, Connor watching Marshall, and Nines watching Connor.

“How are you? Physically, I mean.”

“I’m okay. Still hurts sometimes, like this morning, but not as often. I’m ready to come back to work, and I’d like to take Marshall for runs…” He looks up at his brother, “And mentally, I’m… better with Marshall. He wakes me up when I start having my nightmares. I haven’t had a night terror yet… so I’m a little worried there.”

“You’ve been meeting with your therapist?”

“Yeah, they think Marshall might lessen or stop them. And I’ve been sleeping more, so…” he shrugs

Nines watches him, clearly wanting to ask more but holding back. Connor sighs, “No, Hank still hasn’t contacted me. I know you said he’s okay, but-”

“Gavin said he was okay when they went their separate ways before the revolution.”

“You think something bad happened?”

Nines takes a sip of his coffee before responding, “I hope not, but the possibility is always there…”

“Maybe that’s why… Nines, I told him to come back safe, maybe he’s not safe. Maybe he thinks I wouldn’t…” Connor slumps in his seat, “Is Gavin still able to interface with Hank?”

“I think so?”

“What if Hank learned what happened to me, so he’s staying away for my safety?”

“That would make sense. He’s not one to leave you hanging.”

“Fucking Perkins.” Connor pulls out his phone and starts typing out an email

“What are you doing?”

“Asking Fowler if there is any repercussion for an Android or human involved in the revolution. The FBI is already on my shit list, and I know I’m on theirs. But if Perkins can’t do anything legally…”

“I don’t think legality is top of Perkins priorities right now.”

Connor shrugs and sends the message, typing another out, this time to Hank. He’s not good with feelings. Not good at admitting things or feeling at the mercy of another. But he’s fueled by anger and spite and loneliness,

_’I miss you, Hank’_

Nines stands to throw their leftovers away and returns with a new cup of coffee. He pets Marshall, smiling down at the dog,

“He reminds me of you…”

“Hmm?” Connor looks up from his phone, to see Marshall nearly sitting in Nines’ lap, soaking up the love.

“Marshall. He reminds me of you.”

“How do you mean?”

Nines looks thoughtful, still watching the dog and stroking his fur, “He’s kind. He falls in love fast and hard and cares deeply for those he allows into his life. He’s always aware, even when it seems like he’s aloof.” Nines’ piercing blue eyes lock onto Connor, “Much like you.”

“That’s awfully generous.” Connor tries to hide his blush behind the water bottle he lifts to his mouth

“It’s true. Even when we were kids, I should’ve been the one protecting you but you… you always took the blame.”

“Mom hated you, Nines. She hated everything about you and would take any opportunity to hurt you. I couldn’t let-”

“Mom hated both of us. That’s why we left. Why we ran.”

They stare at each other in silence, both daring the other to argue. Eventually Nines breaks eye contact and looks down at Marshall again,

“She called me.”

“What?!” Connor casts an apologetic around the other diners, he hadn’t meant to yell

“Yeah. Said she’s worried about you, apparently.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. She also threw a fit when I answered…”

Connor frowns, watching Nines’ smile slowly grow, “Because… because of your voice?”

“Yeah. The last time she spoke to me was before T. Called me Jana again… she thinks Nines is a stupid name.”

“She’s stupid.”

He snorts, “It hurts less now… Everyone at work, all my friends, they all know me and accept me.”

Connor is itching to ask more, but he’s stepped on Nines’ toes before asking about his top surgery. He wants his brother to be himself, He wants him to be comfortable in his body and mind. If anything, anyone, were to hurt him or make him feel inferior, Connor would kill.

“I talked to my doctor about it.”

Connor’s head snaps up, “What?”

“You were going to ask about surgery? I talked to my doctor. It’s possible, and something I’m interested in, but… It’s very expensive and our insurance doesn’t cover it.”

“I can help.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”  
  


“I will help. You don’t need to ask, Nines.”

“It’s also… I don’t know, Connor, I want it, but there’s a lot of risk and recovery involved. It’s not as simple as top surgery, and I’m happy.”

Connor watches him, frowning slightly. He reaches down to refill Marshall’s water bowl and looks back at his brother, “What do you want, Nines? Are you doing it for you, or for Gavin.”

He expects Nines to laugh, to brush him off in his confident way, instead he absently stirs his coffee. The longer his silence stretches, the more Connor grows weary,

“Nines… did Gavin say something to you?”

“No. Not Gavin…”

“Mother.” It isn’t a question, but Nines nods,

“Yeah. I know better. I know better than to let her words hurt me, but she…” He shakes his head and pushes his coffee away, “I don’t know, Con.”

“Hey.” He waits until Nines looks at him, “If you don’t want the surgery, if you’re happy, don’t do it. It makes you no less a man.”

Finally, a smile. It’s small and barely reaches his eyes, but Nines gives him a smile, “Thanks. I needed that.” He shakes himself and sighs softly, “So. When are you cleared to return?”

“I’ve been doing desk work at home, but next week I’ll be cleared to return to the field after my appointment.”

“It’ll be nice to have you back. We miss our workaholic.” Nines’ phone goes off and he sighs, “I’m needed back at the precinct. Thanks for this, Connor.”

“Hey, anytime. We should do this weekly.”

Nines stands, grabbing his bag and shoots Connor a grin, “Yeah, let’s plan it. Maybe on a Sunday though.”

Connor watches his brother return to his bike and gives him a wave as he pulls away. He’s healing. They both are. It’s taken a long time, but things are starting to look good. He cleans off the table and leaves a tip, then starts his walk home with Marshall.

Despite laying down the entire time, Marshall looks pooped. Connor pats his head when he sits by the door. Connor reaches for the handle to unlock it and freezes, something within him screams that something’s wrong. He very carefully turns the handle that’s supposed to be locked and steps back when it turns with no resistance. He pulls his gun out and opens the door,

He aims his gun at the intruder, a man nearly to the door and is about to yell when he recognizes him,

“Hank?!”

Marshall starts barking and runs into the house, tail wagging so hard it shakes his body. Hank kneels and calms the dog, gently petting him while watching Connor apprehensively,

“Hello, Connor.”

He lowers his gun, mind whirling at a rate he can’t comprehend. The room around him feels like he’s in a funhouse. The walls wiggle of their own accord and the floor appears to move in waves. He knows he’s breathing too fast, that he needs to calm down, but his mind only screams over and over and over,

_Hank’s back! Hank is here! He came back to me! He returned! He’s safe! HE’S SAFE! He’ssafeHe’ssafeHe’ssafeHe’ssafeHe’ssafe!!_

He knows Hank is talking, gently holding his arms and speaking softly, but he doesn’t hear a word. He lets himself get pulled into the comfort and runs his hand over the soft head of his dog, but he feels like he’s viewing the world through a muddy lens. Like his nerves have been destroyed and he only feels the general _concept_ of Marshall. Of Hank. Of the warmth and relief and joy. He should feel something. Anger? Joy? Relief? But nothing.

He feels nothing.

Hank grips his shoulders and shakes him, much like he had in the precinct and Connor forces his eyes to focus on him. On his beautiful blue eyes. He’s talking again. Connor sees his mouth moving, but he can’t hear a word, just a general pleasant humming. 

Connor flinches as his heart rate hastens, pounding a cadence in his chest, slamming into his ears with the force of a train. He gasps for breath, body finally forcing him to inhale even as his mind forgets the need. He feels the burn of tears, the electricity through his veins, the jittery energy of anxiety. He barely notices Marshall’s weight on his lap as the dog forces his face into Connor’s hands.

Hank is pressing something to his lips, so he opens his mouth. He trusts Hank. It’s a pill. It sits heavy on his tongue, stuck with his saliva, and the taste is foul. Bitter like a chemical he shouldn’t drink. He greedily gulps the water Hank presents and gags at the remaining taste. His mind screams things at him he knows aren’t true.

The lights go out in the room and Hank pulls Connor against him, holding him firmly against his larger frame.

Connor’s ear is pressed against Hank’s chest. He hears the steady thump of his thirium pump, the relaxing river of the blue fluid through his artificial veins, the air he breathes in and breathes out and Connor matches his own breathing. Easier to focus when he can hear it.

He runs his fingers over the soft fabric of Hank’s pants, thumbs the seam on the side of his leg, rubs his own jeans between his fingers. He reaches out and strokes Marshall’s head, smiling when he’s greeted by a large wet tongue. 

His mind is empty, his senses dulled, but everything is in perfect clarity. His eyelids feel heavy, but he knows he’s not actually tired. He sits up slightly and peeks at Hank,

“You came home…”

“I promised.”

Connor leans his head on Hank’s shoulder, “I missed you.”

Hank is still, long enough for Connor to begin dozing, only to jump slightly when Hank gently kisses his forehead,

"I'm sorry I was gone so long. After what happened…. I didn't want to risk them finding a reason to hurt you again."

Connor forces himself to sit up, and fully look at the man, "You knew?"

Hank nods, "Gavin kept me updated. And my connection with the DPD." He gently touches Connor's cheek, "I'm sorry."

"Nothin’ to be sorry for. You're home now, that's all that matters to me."

Through heavy, tired eyes, Connor watches Hank move in. He knows the lead up to a kiss and turns to face him better. Hank seems to stop, Connor’s movement startling him into stillness. Connor watches him a few seconds more,

“You gonna kiss me, Hank?”

“I’d like to. But not tonight. You look too tired.”

Connor opens his mouth to argue when Hank scoops him into his arms, carrying him effortlessly to the bed,

“Rest, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Connor squirms until he faces Hank, “Stay? Here, with me?”

Hank is already climbing into bed with him, “Of course.”

…

Connor wakes to the smell of coffee and climbs out of his bed like a zombie from a grave. He feels heavy. Lethargic and slow like walking through tar. He squints at the harsh light of the sun coming through his windows and shuffles into his kitchen. He smiles when he sees Hank, still facing the stove, and coils his arms around the man’s torso,

“Good Morning, Detective.”

“Morning, Hank…”

He nuzzles his face into the soft fabric of Hank’s hoodie, then frowns and speaks, voice muffled by the thick fabric, “When did you get a hoodie?”

“Before Gavin and I went to join the deviants.”

Connor takes a step back, looking the man over. 

He looks so human. 

Without his Cyberlife issued clothes, he’s just an ordinary man. An extraordinarily sexy man, but who’s asking. Connor’s attention is pulled down to Marshall, sitting happily near his feet,

“Hey, buddy. You go outside already?”

Marshall just wags his tail, tongue lolling out

“You eat too?”

Marshall shifts to fully face Connor, big eyes pleading.

“Oh, I see. You think I’ll feed you again?”

He just stares and Connor shakes his head,

“Sorry bud. Until I can start running again, you’re stuck with what you get.”

Connor holds eye contact until Marshall huffs and looks away,

“Yeah, I thought so.”

He looks up to find Hank watching him, a small amused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Connor clears his throat and gestures towards Marshall, currently emptying his water bowl,

“He’s good company…”

“It’s cute.” Hank turns back around and pushes the food onto a plate, “You want coffee?”

“I’ll have water. I’m going to get a coffee when I take Marshall to the-” Connor looks at his dog, ears perked, listening for the _words_ , “Uh… the um… _area giochi per cani.”_

Hank stares, “You know Italian?”

“Yeah, I was an exchange student my senior year.” Connor watches Hank’s LED flicker between red and yellow, brow furrowing, and laughs through his nose, picking up the plate, “You okay, Hank? Think too much harder and I’ll start seeing smoke.”

“That’s impossible.”

Connor sits and pops a small diced potato into his mouth, “Me speaking Italian?”

“No, the smoke.” Hank grabs a glass of water and sets it down by Connor’s plate, sitting across from him, “I didn’t realize you were so…”

Connor smirks, “Witty? Charming? Roguishly Handsome?”

“Smart.”

Connor snorts, “Damn, Hank. Didn’t you get my file?”

“Your languages didn’t matter to me.”

“You got my transcript!”

Hank stares a hole in the table as his LED turns yellow, “Oh. Top of your class,” His eyes widen, and he looks up at Connor. An expression of shock and… pride?

Whatever it is, it makes Connor worry, “What?”

“Uh.” Hank sits up straight and clears his throat unnecessarily, “Nothing, Detective.”

Connor frowns, watching the android before him shift uncomfortably. He saw something he wasn’t supposed to. Likely something classified. Within his file, but near his education and work history. A notation by Fowler?

He narrows his eyes and leans his elbows on the table, “Hank. What did you find.”

“Classified information, Detective.”

“Mmhmm, about me. Near my education and work history.” Hank’s eyes flick from Connor to the table, to the food, to the floor. 

Connor sits back again, “Put there by Fowler, yes? After I’d been hired. Probably recently.” Hank’s eyes flick up to meet his, and Connor nods, “Very recent. Could really only mean a promotion.”

“If he asks, I didn’t tell you.”

Connor lurches forward on his seat, “Wait, really?!”

Hank deflates, “Dammit. No wonder you’re getting it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You somehow got a confession out of _me._ An Android.”

“You’re more human than you think.”

Connor looks down as Marshall pushes his cold wet nose against his elbow, “Sorry, bud. I’ll hurry.” He pats the dogs head and eats in earnest, then gets up and clears the table. 

He uses the bathroom and takes a quick shower, then steps into his room to get dressed. He pulls on a light blue tee, pulls his DPD sweater over it, and puts on his favorite pair of black jeans. Carrying his socks, he returns to the living room,

“Okay, Marsh. Grab your harness.”

Marshall obediently fetches his harness and leash and sits happily at Connor’s now socked and booted feet. He clips the harness into place and stands, pulling on his jacket, 

“Coming, Hank?”

Marshall helpfully turns and offers Hank his best puppy dog eyes, making the Android sigh, “Can’t say no to two begging puppies, now, can I.” He pulls on a jacket and nods to the door, “Let’s go then.”

They stop at the nearest coffee shop and Connor gets a Pumpkin Spice Latte. He takes a careful sip and hums as the warmth rushes through his body, “Fuck, this is good.”

He lets out a happy sigh and watches his breath crystalize in the air. He turns to Hank and holds out the cup, “Hank, wanna taste?”

Hank looks at the cup, then at him, “Sure.” He moves Connor closer with a gentle hand on his jaw, into a kiss. Connor’s lips part in surprise, allowing Hank full exploration rights. 

Connor’s knees feel like jelly, he distinctly feels his warm latte disappear from his hands and registers that he should be concerned that he dropped it, but all he can seem to focus on is the warm press of Hank’s mouth, the slick slide of his tongue against Connors. Without his drink as a barrier, Connor presses closer, into the warmth of the larger man. He curls his fingers in Hank’s hair, silently admiring the silken strands. He darts out his tongue and taunts Hank’s lip between his teeth, then bites down. He shivers as Hank growls, and licks the bite.

All too soon, Hank is pulling away, “Tastes good, Con.” He gently places the drink back in Connor’s hands and takes Marshall’s leash. He starts walking, then looks back, “Are you coming, Detective?”

Connor mutters under his breath, _“Hopefully soon, yeah.”_

Hank raises an eyebrow, “Beg pardon?”

“Nothing.” He hurries to catch up, glaring at the smirk Hank throws him, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” 

Connor sullenly sips his latte, still silently melting over the flavor, as they walk. The coffee shop isn’t too far from the dog park, so they get there within a few minutes. Connor opens the gate and watches Marshall excitedly bound in, then sits at Connor’s feet, practically vibrating.

Connor pats the dogs head and unclips the harness. He opens the door and steps aside, watching Marshall practically salivate over the potential,

“Ok.”

Marshall sprints to join the other dogs, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement. Connor watches the other dogs run to meet Marshall, all of them sniffing and barking excitedly. 

He settles on a nearby bench with Hank and watches them play, “So..”

Hank looks over at him, “So?”

“What’s your plan?” Connor looks at Hank, “Now that you’re free, I mean.”

Hank hums and looks out over the park, “I will be talking to Captain Fowler about reinstating with the police department.” 

“That’s... “

“That’s it.”

A surprisingly awkward silence falls over them and Connor focuses on finishing his drink. So much that Hank almost startles him,

“Marshall, don’t eat the- he’s eating mud.”

Connor looks up to see his lovely, brilliant dog rolling in a massive mud puddle, tongue out and tail whipping. He sighs, “I gotta clean him in the bathtub.”

“Well, he’s already filthy, might as well let him have fun.”

Connor throws away his empty cup, “Alright, but you’re brushing him.”

“As if that’s a downside.” Hank grins at him, and Connor snorts,

“We’ll see how you feel after you’re done.” He sits back down, maybe a little closer to Hank than he was before, and they watch Marshall play in the puddle with a small gaggle of other dogs.

The awkward air is gone. Sitting with Hank on a park bench watching their dog- Connor blinks, when had he started thinking of Marshall as _theirs_? He looks over at Hank, serenely watching the dogs play,

“Hank?” The man makes a soft noise of question, and Connor pauses. What will he ask, _‘Hey, Marshall really seems to like you, want him to be partially yours?’_ Ridiculous.

Hank looks over at him after his silence stretches on longer than normal, “Is everything alright, Connor?”

Connor rubs at the short hair on the back of his neck, “You’re… you’ll stay, right?” he looks up at Hank.

The android seems to have to perform a full reset. He just stares at Connor. Long enough for Connor to feel an intense, bizarre pain in his chest and a familiar burn in his eyes. He looks away, “You don’t have to. I just thought, since you’ll be coming back to work…”

“I would very much like to stay with you, if I could.”

Connor looks back at Hank, meeting his piercing blue gaze, “I’d like that.”

They hold contact, both admiring the other for various reasons, when Connor is knocked from the bench. Marshall excitedly stands over his prone form, splattering mud all over him.

“Marsh, what the fuck?” Connor tries to push the slimy dog off, but pauses when he hears laughter. Both he and Marshall look up at Hank, who is doubled over in laughter.

Connor knows his answering smile is entirely enamored, but he can’t find it within himself to care. The low rumble of Hank’s laugh is a sound Connor finds he wants to hear every day. Eventually, though, Hank recovers. He gets up and helps Connor to his feet,

“We should get you home, you’ll catch cold.”

With numb fingers, Connor attaches the harness and leash and leads Marshall to the exit, “Well, time for a bath.”

“For both of you.”

Connor squints over his shoulder, “Marshall first.”

The look Hank gives him, the slow smirk, the hooded eyes, makes Connor’s knees wobble, “I was thinking at the same time, Detective.”

Attempting to reassert control, Connor turns his back on the man, “Shut the gate so we can leave.”

He hears the gate click, and opens the exit, turning towards the quickest path home. Hank catches up with him easily,

“Maybe you should get a cab.”

“The house is only five minutes away.”

“But, you’re cold.”

Connor peers at him, “Guess you’ll have to warm me up.”

Hank huffs, but says no more, walking silently beside Connor the rest of the way. When they arrive, Connor looks at Hank, “Will you carry him to the bathroom? I would, but my doctor hasn’t cleared me for heavy lifting yet.”

“Of course.” Hank lifts Marshall easily and delivers him to the bathroom when Connor opens the door. After removing his jacket and boots, Connor joins them.

Hank has the water started, and Marshall gets excited all over again when he sees Connor, tail wagging hard enough to toss cold specks of mud at Hank. Most of the mud fell off while they were walking, but Marshall’s tail still holds a decent amount.

“Ready to take a bath, bud? Yeah? You like baths, huh? Think you can be gentle on us?”

Hearing the word ‘gentle’, Marshall immediately calms, sitting quietly next to the tub while Connor removes his harness. Marshall obediently climbs in the tub and sits in the water, expectantly watching Connor remove his sweater. 

Connor kneels beside Hank and carefully rubs at the dog’s paws, “Can you move the shower head, so we can clean his back?”

Working in tandem, they get Marshall soaking wet, but squeaky clean. Near the end, when Connor thinks he’ll escape this bathtime mostly dry, as Hank leaves to get towels, Marshall gets the urge, and shakes most of the contents of the bath onto Connor. 

Kneeling in shock, Connor looks down at himself, at his almost entirely see-through tee and the large puddle of water surrounding him. He turns slightly upon hearing Hank re-enter, and reaches out for a towel.

He turns his head when no towel is pressed to his hand to find the android just staring at him. At his very see through shirt,

“Hank?”

With a minute shake of his head, Hank hands over the towel and drains the tub, or, what’s left of the tub, and starts the lengthy process of drying Marshall.

While he’s doing that, Connor peels off his shirt, dropping it in the laundry basket, and rubs himself down with the towel. His jeans are wet too, but he’ll wait until Hank and Marshall are done before stripping entirely.

Hank finally deems Marshall decently dry, and frees the pooch to his napping spot near the radiator. The android stands and eyes Connor, lingering a moment longer on his chest, then grabbing another towel, 

“Come here.”

“Huh?”

Connor is pulled close and gets his head covered by the towel. A few seconds later, Hank begins drying the curly locks. Connor tries to hold back a shiver at their proximity, at Hank’s hands in his hair, pulling and rubbing and-

A moderately rough tug has Connor biting back a moan, turning it into some semblance of a grunt. Hank murmurs an apology and Connor swears the man’s lips are brushing his ear. Connor silently curses the confines of his jeans while also praying they’re tight enough to hide his growing arousal. He shifts slightly away, and turns his head down. _Dammit._ Obvious as day. There’s the potential Hank knows what he’s doing, but the thought of pushing very Human urges onto him makes Connor move away.

“Hank, I still have to shower. No use drying my hair.” 

He turns to the door, reaching for it to pull his personal towel down. He hears Hank move, starting to say something, and turns to watch the android slip on one of many puddles on the floor. Hank careens towards him, and catches himself on the wall, pinning Connor most entirely.

Pressed together like this, thigh, hips, stomach, chest. There’s no way Hank can’t tell. Yet, he doesn’t move. Connor watches _something_ cross his face. An emotion or an idea. He gasps as Hank presses their hips closer, pinning Connor’s erection between them. Then he holds still, watching. Waiting.

Connor swallows hard, forcing the burning wave of arousal down so he can speak, “Hank…”

“Can I touch you, Detective?”

The arousal crashes over him, knocking the air from his lungs and turning his limbs to jelly, “Fuck, yes please.”

With permission given, Hank’s hands are immediately upon him. Gentle, but insistent, pulling at Connor’s belt, divesting him of the remainder of his clothes.

  
Connor barely notices. Consumed entirely by the intense heat of Hank’s mouth over his, the calloused rasp of his hand exploring his chest, thumbing at his nipple until Connor breaks the kiss to moan into his neck. Hank explores Connor’s body with lips and teeth and tongue, biting and sucking at his collarbone, licking at teasing his untouched nipple.

If Connor didn’t know better, he’d swear he died. His entire body feels engulfed in flame, the attention to his chest and neck and the sudden freedom of his cock pushes him harshly to the edge. He teeters there, unwilling to let himself fall, if only to savor the blissful agony a little longer.

“Hah~ Hank, I ca- Hank, please!”

Hank latches his teeth onto Connor’s earlobe, finally wrapping his hand around his aching cock, and growls, “Come for me, Connor.”

He lets himself fall. His entire body goes rigid, he swears he’s lifted off the ground. He can’t tell if he’s screaming, but he knows his mouth is open. His body reacts of its own accord, as if attached to a live wire, jolts of heat and pleasure and _pain_ pulsing through his body. He can’t tell how long it takes him to come down, he just shivers from the little spikes of pleasure still thrumming through him.

He hazily looks at Hank, and the man smiles, “Hello again, Detective.”

“Did… did I pass out?”

“Not entirely.”

Connor sighs and leans forward against him, pressing his body as close as he can, “ ‘m cold.”

Hank huffs a soft laugh and carefully lifts Connor, setting him beside the tub and draping a dry towel over him. He cleans out the dirt and rocks from Marshall, and starts fresh hot water. Connor must doze off, because next he knows, he’s being gently lowered into the water. He blearily looks at Hank,

“Will you get in with me?”

Hank hesitates only a moment, before pressing a kiss to Connor’s forehead and stripping out of his clothes. 

Connor lets himself stare, admiring his bulkier build, his hair, his thighs. Forgetting it can be rude to stare, Connor lingers over Hank’s crotch. He’d never considered it before, but Hank isn’t a Traci model, it makes sense he doesn’t have any ‘equipment’. Just a smooth mound, like a male barbie doll.

Hank gently nudges Connor’s shoulder and climbs in behind him, “See something you dislike, Detective?”

He sounds nervous.

Connor leans happily back against him, “Not at all. I can’t wait to explore your body. Figure out what will undo you.”

He feels Hank’s smile as the man presses a kiss to his temple, “I’m looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://connorandersons-blog.tumblr.com/post/642243459616505856/connor-in-a-wet-t-shirt-click-for-better
> 
> ^^ my visual inspiration for this last scene


	4. Rain or Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW Suicide attempt by a teen. ((NO ACTUAL SUICIDE))
> 
> Also, I hate asking this, but if you're still with me, mind dropping a comment? I've been feeling pretty shit about my writing lately and if you're still enjoying/reading my stuff I'd like to know   
> :3
> 
> Thanks

Connor silently examines his desk. After the FBI ripped it near to shreds, Nines boxed up all of Connor’s items and kept them safe. The day Connor returned to work, he and Nines worked to return the desk to normal. 

It is normal. But it doesn’t  _ feel  _ normal. Something is wrong. He looks across the desk to the neighboring empty space that used to belong to Hank and sighs. Captain Fowler has been in a conference call all day about reinstating Android Detectives. Namely Gavin and Hank, but also offering positions back to the Androids that were previously utilized. 

“You ok?”

Connor looks up at Nines and accepts the mug of coffee, “Yeah. Just feels weird without him.”

“He’s not dead, Con.”

Connor glares from over his coffee, “I know that, you dick.”

Nines laughs and walks back to his desk, sitting down to resume his work. Leaving Connor alone with his thoughts. He’s cleared for field work, but Captain Fowler wants him to hold off on any investigations until he can get a partner. Which would be fine, but Connor  _ has  _ a partner. If he has to go about getting used to a  _ new _ partner, he’s going to riot.

So now, Connor waits. He can’t assist any investigation without a partner, apparently, so he might as well get paid to sip coffee and mentally bitch about the slow progress of Android rights. He scoffs into his mug, he should advocate for Markus. 

The precinct seems to stir, like flustered chickens in a coop, the steady rise of murmurs and restless shifting pulls Connor’s attention to the door. Perkins, the prick, walks in. Head held high as if he isn’t walking into the one government building he’s the least safe in. The officers he passes scoff at him, a few mumble things, Tina doesn’t even try hiding her rude gesture. But Perkins stops only at Nines desk, standing there like a peacock in heat until Nines glares up from his terminal.

Perkins says something that draws Nines complete attention and a few shocked looks from surrounding officers and Connor has the overwhelming urge to shoot the fucker in the face. He, unfortunately, doesn’t get the chance, as Nines stands, towering over the short man, and punches him square in the nose.

Chaos breaks loose, officers running to either help, or hold back. They part like the red sea when Connor approaches and hauls his brother off the bastard. Nines goes easy enough, but growls a slew of curse words, before speaking clearer,

“You’re damn lucky there are witnesses, Perkins, because I know the best fucking places to hide a body.”

Connor pulls him away, moving towards his own desk and putting himself between Perkins and his brother. Nines watches the man like a hawk, scowling at him as he covers his bleeding nose and limps into Fowler’s office.

Connor waits until he’s gone to probe, “What did he say?!”

“Better question is, what didn’t he say?” Nines sits back in Connor’s chair and examines his fist, “Man is a goddamn prawn.”

Connor tries not to laugh, really he does, but a little snort escapes, “A prawn?”

“Yeah, a crustacean? Similar to a shrimp?”

“I know what a prawn is, I’ve just never heard it used as an insult before…” Connor grabs Nines’ hand and starts applying first aid, “I like it.”

He gets a grin from Nines and works in relative silence. The officers that leapt to help Nines are all more or less settled again. No doubt Perkins is going to bitch about Nines attacking him. Connor lets out a slow sigh as he finishes wrapping his brother’s hand.

Nines’ voice is low, “Think I’ll get in trouble?”

Connor glances towards the tinted windows of the office, “Nah. Fowler’s got your back.”

He sits on the corner of his desk, a spot typically saved for Hank, but he’s with Marshall. The case between himself and the FBI is slow moving too, mostly because it’s near impossible to sue a government agency. Connor truthfully only wants it to be over. Wants whatever settlement the FBI wants to shove at him delivered with a little ‘sorry’ written on a bundle of flowers.

Plus Perkins in jail. That’d be nice.

Nines looks at him, “What’s on your mind?”

“The Prawn.”

Nines snorts and looks towards Fowler’s office, “I wonder what he’s doing in there.”

“Sticking his fingers in everyone’s pies. Mostly ours, it seems.” 

Connor and Nines turn at the sound of someone approaching the desk. The young officer looks a little spooked to be the focus of their attention, but speaks clearly, 

“There’s been a stabbing downtown. Android maid? I think, but the daughter of the woman who stabbed the android is threatening to jump from the building.”

Not bothering to ask why the officer came to them, why the regular force couldn’t handle it, why it didn’t go to another department, both brothers grab their equipment. Connor looks at the officer, grabbing a set of squad car keys, 

“Address!”

They stutter through it, and Connor nods, running to the door with Nines on his heels. Without words passed between them, Connor gets in the driver’s seat and takes off. Nines gets the GPS running, but both know where they’re going. It’s the site of Hank’s first official investigation. One of the tallest residence buildings in Detroit. The time to get there would typically be half an hour during regular traffic in a regular car with a regular driver. But with Connor behind the wheel of a screaming police vehicle, they make it there in 7 minutes.

In time for Connor’s heart to stop as a shoe hits the ground. He runs to one of the fire rescue, “Where are they?”

“Kid’s still at the top, Chief just went up to talk to them but-”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest. Shoe didn’t precede a person, he still has time. He runs like he doesn’t. The elevator is busy, so he takes the stairs. Takes two steps at a time and it makes his lungs burn but he doesn’t stop. Not until he gets to the roof. Until he gets the person, the kid, in his sights.

The Chief directs him to the edge of the roof, past a huge metal housing.

They can’t be older than 16.

The roof is largely empty, save for the large generator the teen is leaning against. The ledge they’re standing on is only hip height on him, probably three feet. Standing room of maybe 7 inches? About the size of his hand, stretched out. Room only for a little more than half the length of his foot.

He takes a few deep breaths, and moves up onto the ledge, “What’s your name?”

The kid looks at him, eyes wide with terror, chest heaving. Their dark skin is paler with fear and they have a dark beanie pulled over their ears, but no coat. Standing there in a flannel, jeans, and only one shoe.

He offers what he hopes is a comforting smile, “My name is Connor. I’m with the police.”

“Why are you here?”

God, they sound even younger. Without looking down, he moves further onto the ledge, inching towards them, “I want to help you. Whatever happened, I can-”

“You can’t!” They watch him, eyes still scared, “You can’t, it already happened, it’s no use. I’m not going back.”

“Can I come closer? You look cold, I want to give you my jacket.”

The change in topic seems to confuse them, mollify them. They nod, suppressing a shiver and Connor moves ever closer. The ledge really is tiny and the view over the edge terrifies him to his core. He can vaguely see the measly inflated trampoline at the bottom. Like it’ll do anything.

He takes a deep breath and looks at the teen, “I hate heights.” They furrow their brow, but before they can ask why the hell he’d climb onto the ledge of a roof, he carefully takes his jacket off, subtly making sure he didn’t leave anything in the pockets, and hands it over.

“Careful putting that on, okay? Do you need help balancing?”

He feels a tiny amount of relief when they nod and step closer to him. With extreme care, Connor holds them both steady while they don the jacket. It’s big on them, going past their hands and absolutely dwarfing their small frame. 

He smiles, “Doesn’t quite fit, but a bit better?”

“Ye-yeah.” 

Neither moves away, if anything the teen moves a little closer.

“Gherri.”

“Pardon?”

“My name. It’s Gherri.”

Connor watches them look out across the city, their eyes fill with tears, “My mom shot Kris, our Android. Because they w-” a hard blink and the tears spill over, “They were helping me transition.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah.” Gherri wipes at their eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, then seems to realize, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“You’re okay. Did… did your mother try to hurt you, Gherri?”

“She wants me to stop. Wants me to embrace who I am.” They scoff, “Be the perfect fucking daughter. You have any idea how bad that hurts?”

“A little. My brother went through a similar situation with our mother.”

“He did? Is he-?”

“He’s here. We work together and he came with me. I’ll wager he’s on the roof, pacing like a stressed nursemaid.”

Gherri laughs, then seems surprised with themselves. They look at him, “If I come with, do I have to go back to her?”

“No. We’ll bring you with us first, make sure you don’t have any injuries, probably stop at the hospital or get an ambulance for you. But, you’ll come to the precinct with us where you’ll be safe. We can talk from there.” 

“Okay.” they nod, “Yeah, okay.”

Relief courses through him and he nods, “Alright, which way…” Connor looks left and right, at their potential exits. The space on the left seems shorter, “There’s an opening on that side, right?”

“Yeah, I got on from there…”

“Okay, we’ll go that way. I’m going to call out to my brother, so he knows, okay?”

They nod and Connor clears his throat, “Nines! Going left!” He doesn’t hear a response, but he trusts Nines will be there.

The two make slow progress, inching to the safety of the roof. Connor stays close behind Gherri, worrying about how they wobble on their shoe-less foot. Nearly to the roof, Connor can see his brother, barely a foot left to go.

The generator kicks on, and Gherri flinches. They don’t jump much, but it’s enough. Without thinking, Connor grabs a handful of the jacket and shoves them into his brother’s arms. The world moves in slow motion. Nines catches the teen just as Connor’s foot slips. He feels his lungs and his heart and his stomach all meet in the same place inside his chest and reaches out blindly. He sees nothing but his brother’s terrified blue eyes, the horror of the small teen still in his arms.

His body is largely numb, adrenaline giving him strength he couldn’t call on in a normal circumstance, he takes a leap of faith. He kicks off with the foot still in contact with a solid surface and aims to land on the roof. 

He feels like he’s been punched in the gut as he lands on the ledge, arms braced against it like he’s trying to lift himself out of the world’s most dangerous pool. Two pairs of hands pull him to safety and once he sits up properly, he gets a faceful of fluffy rainbow hair.

Gherri is sobbing into his shirt, “I’m sorry! Oh god, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Connor gently hugs them close, petting the mop of brightly colored hair, “Shh, shh, hey. I’m okay. See? I’m okay.”

They look at him and he offers a small smile, “We’re safe now. Nines and I are gonna get you taken care of, don’t you worry.”

Carefully, Connor stands with the teen and lets Nines lead them to the ground level. Gherri moves behind Connor when a woman approaches. Nines steps between them,

“You are under arrest for the murder of Kris AL300. You have the-”

The woman shrieks over him, “You can’t arrest me for destroying a machine! It’s a robot! A glorified car! A microwave!”

With a low sigh, Nines turns the woman and starts cuffing her, “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…”

Connor steers Gherri towards the car he came in with Nines, while his brother takes the woman over to one of the uniformed officers. After a quick check-up by the EMS, Connor and Nines drive Gherri back to the precinct.

They get Gherri marked in as a visitor and sit them at Connor’s desk,

“How old are you?”

They fiddle with the cup of tea Nines brought over, “17.”

“You’re old enough to make your decisions, do you have any family you could live with?”

“My brother, yeah.”

Connor nods and Nines leans forward, “What pronouns do you prefer?”

“Uh, he/him.”

Both brothers nod and Connor hands over his cellphone, “You’re free to go. If you want to stay here a bit longer, you’re welcome to. Otherwise, use the phones to call who you need. Your apartment is a crime scene, but considering the cut and dry case, they’ll let you in to grab your stuff. Your mother likely won’t be released.”

“She’s being arrested?”

Connor looks sideways at Nines, who nods, “Yeah. Androids have significantly more rights now and one of the first laws passed was to protect them in the case of violence. Any act of violence towards an android will be treated with the same severity as if it were a human.”

Gherri smiles into their tea, “Good.” He reaches out and takes the phone, typing in a number and dialing his brother. Nines motions for Connor to follow and moves away slightly, 

“Good job out there.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nines’ head snaps up, a look of confusion on his face, “Why?”

“For running out on the ledge. I know I’m going to get in trouble for it, but I wanted to apologize to you first. That slip… If it were you, I’d be pissed.”

A moment of silence passes between them before Nines speaks again, “I was scared. But I also know that you’re the best person to talk anyone out of that choice. You got them off the ledge in only a few minutes, Con. You saved their life, and I can’t be mad at you for that. I just wish you’d remember that there are people who would fucking miss you. You aren’t disposable.”

Without preamble, Nines pulls Connor into a tight hug, holding him until he returns the squeeze. As they separate, Fowler steps out of the office, 

“Connor. Office.”

Nines gives him a light pat and walks back to Gherri. Connor heaves a sigh and walks into Fowler’s office, sitting in a vacant chair. At least Perkins is gone.

“A couple things to go over.” Fowler sits heavily in his desk chair and turns to his computer, “We’re still trying to figure shit out with what happened to you.” Connor nods and Fowler continues, “That scuffle with Perkins doesn’t leave the precinct. I smoothed things over, but you boys have to shut your mouths about it. Our Android officers have all been cleared to return to work by the end of the week and they will receive back pay.”

Fowler stops speaking and watches Connor. It makes him squirm, he picks at his nails, examines the desk, brushes imaginary lint off his pants, but eventually can’t take it anymore, “Is there something else, sir?”

“You know what.”

“I will not regret what I did.”

“It was reckless.”

“It was worth it.  _ He  _ is worth it.” Connor finally makes eye contact, “If you want to reprimand me, go for it, another mark against my name is a small price to pay for saving a boy’s life.”

Fowler purses his lips and nods, “I will not. But a lot of people saw your slip. We don’t know what the news will say, but be prepared for anything, Stern.”

Connor bites back a snide remark, instead muttering, “Yessir.”

“That’s everything.”

Connor stands and is nearly to the door when he stops and turns slightly, “Sir?” Fowler raises an eyebrow, a signal for Connor to continue, “What do you suggest I should have done for that young man?

It’s a test, and they both know it. Protocol means shit when faced with extreme circumstances. Fowler leans back in his chair, “I would change nothing. You and your brother did remarkably well, but you are not disposable. Just… use caution.”

Connor nods, “Thank you.” and he leaves. He glances around for the mop of colorful hair and frowns when he approaches Nines, “Where’s the kid?”

“Friend picked him up. He left something on your desk.”

“My phone, I hope.” Connor walks to his desk, taking his phone with a small smile, then pauses. On a small piece of paper is a doodle, surrounding a big scribbled ‘Thank you - Gherri’. He swallows past the lump in his throat and grabs it with shaking fingers. He feels Nines’ hand land on his shoulder and he looks over at him.

“I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Me too. You need a minute?”

“Nah.” Connor slips it in his wallet, just behind his license, “We have to write up the report anyway.”

As he moves to sit at his desk, Nines snorts, “Workaholic.” and walks back to his own desk.

The day progresses quickly after that, filled with reports, bland evidence reviews, and a few observed interrogations. Connor finds himself sitting in his car, parked on his driveway before he knows it. The chill of the day is seeping through the cracks in his car, and with the vehicle off, the only way for Connor to combat the cold is to retreat inside.

He gets out and walks to the door, pulling his keys and unlocking it, before stepping inside. He’s toeing off his shoe and is about to announce his arrival, when he sees them. Hank and Marshall, entirely passed out in the living room. Hank is stretched across the couch with his arm to the side and buried in the fur of Marshall, who lays between the coffee table and couch.

Connor smiles and quietly strips off his jacket and removes all the stuff from his pockets. He’s about to head to the bedroom to grab a hoodie when his eyes land on Hank again. His hoodie looks decently sized. Surely enough room for two?

Connor tiptoes to the couch, gives Marshall a pat and crawls on the man, slithering his way into the hoodie and wrapping his arms around Hank’s torso. He gently squeezes when Hank stirs and offers a sheepish smile when Hank frowns into Connor’s makeshift cave.

“Hi, Hank.”

“Hello, Connor.”

“I’m sorry for waking you.”   
  


Hank smiles and relaxes, wrapping his arms around Connor and holding him to his chest, “How was work?”

“Nines punched Perkins and I almost fell off a building.”

Connor watches for a reaction, but Hank simply nods, “Why did Nines punch Perkins?”

“Should I make a list?”

Hank snorts and the sound makes Connor grin. Distracting him enough that the next question almost throws him,

“Why did you almost fall off a building?”

“We got called to an attempted suicide and as the kid and I were headed to safety, the kid slipped and I shoved him. I lost my footing, but I… leapt.”

“A leap of faith?”

Connor buries his face in Hank’s chest hair, “Ain’t gotta say it like that.”

“Is that not what it was?”

“No.”

Hank is silent long enough for Connor to finally look up at him. He’s just smiling down at him, head propped on the arm of the couch, blue eyes practically glittering. He’s unbelievably beautiful. Not in a conventional sense, in a lived-in, comfortable, safe sense. Connor tried to hate Hank up until the moment he realized he might love him.

Now, staring up into his blue eyes, nestled in his hoodie, he’s certain he does.

“Did you take Marshall out?”

At the sound of his name, Marshall leaps up onto the couch, bouncing on Connor’s back and letting out tiny barks. Connor groans and tries to wiggle him off, 

“Marsh! Down! Marshall!”

Hank, big help he is, laughs. Big open warm guffaws. As Connor slips out of the sweater, he shoves both Hank and Marshall off the couch,

“Assholes. Hank, take him out.”

He doesn’t wait to see if Hank does so, he just heads into his bedroom to change out of his work clothes. He puts on his favorite pair of grey sweats and a baggy tee and heads back into the living room. Hank and Marshall are both gone, so Connor stretches out on the couch, not so subtly burrowing his face into the pillow Hank was using.

It’s strange, there’s no reason to give Androids a smell. To make an android smell like musk, or sweat, or perfume. Before deviancy, Hank  _ didn’t _ smell like anything. But as Connor buries his face in the couch cushion, he swears there’s something. Vague, but familiar. Like his brother’s jacket when he would drive him to school on his motorcycle. Like the single vacation Connor took after college to Italy and sat on a balcony with a smoke and a coffee. Like a late night with a glass of whiskey.

He sits up, feeling drunk off the scents. Is he imagining it? Maybe that’s just what his house smells like and he’d gotten so used to it, that it took a full day out to remember? But he doesn’t drink anymore, and he barely smokes. When was the last time he wore his leather jacket?

He looks up when the back door opens and all thoughts cease to exist besides the single brain cell that just screams,

_ ‘Hank has a leather jacket. Hank is wearing a leather jacket. Hank looks damn good in that jacket. What if he took his shirt off and wore…  _ ONLY  _ the leather jacket.’ _

“-alright?”

Connor blinks out of his stupor, “Huh?”

Hank pulls off his jacket, watching Connor, “I asked if you’re alright.”

Connor can’t stop the small sound of disappointment as the jacket gets pulled off Hank’s shoulders, “No, I’m… actually. Hank, may I have a hug?”

Hank frowns at him, but shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of a kitchen chair, “Sure.”

Connor climbs over the back of the couch, ignoring Hank’s grumbled protest, and hugs him tightly, again burying his nose in the man’s chest.

It’s unmistakable now, the scent is coming from Hank. With an underlying hint of… sweat? Connor leans back,

“Hank, why do you smell?”

“Is it bad?”

“No. But you didn’t before, and now you do.”

“You smelled me?”

“Yes, and don’t change the topic. Is this an upgrade of some sort?”

Hank nods, “One of the upgrades I got while away, though I only recently turned it on.”

“Why?” Connor sounds breathless 

“A few reasons, I suppose. For you,-” Connor blushes and hides his face in Hank’s shoulder as he continues, “-and to feel more human. More alive.”

Voice muffled by the fabric, Connor mumbles, “I like it.”

He hears Hank laugh, and feels him squeeze him tighter. 

They stand like that for a long while. Long enough for Marshall to eventually nose between them and demand attention. Connor smiles down at his dog and kneels, petting him,

“Sorry, buddy. Am I ignoring you? What a terrible owner I am.”

He gives Marshall’s ear a good scratch, then stands and wanders into the kitchen, “Okay, lets see…. What do we want for dinner.”

“Connor, I do not eat.”

Connor grins over his shoulder, “It was a rhetorical question, Hank. I meant it more for myself.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and flicks through his playlists, settling on one Nines made for him called ‘Feel better, asshole’ and shuffles it. All the songs on the list can be danced to, and most have good guitar parts. 

  
He sets the phone on the counter, humming along with the first song, and looks through the fridge. He really should go grocery shopping. Somehow all he has is a jar of Kimchi, eggs, sour cream and a few cartons of oat milk. Letting himself dance to the music, he moves on to the cupboard. Options are limited, because of course they are. 

Connor frowns, there’s something on the top most shelf that he’s almost entirely sure he didn’t put there. He climbs up on the counter, grabs the item, and moves to sit on the countertop while reading the box.

“Hmm, Lava cake?” He looks up to address the only other being in the house that can buy groceries, “Hank-” 

Hank steps between Connor’s spread legs and grabs the box, putting it back into the cupboard where it came from while holding eye contact, “Yes, Detective?”

Connor’s brain only stutters a moment before he recovers, “You know, Hank, for an Android with no dick you sure do act like your brain is housed there.”

“I do not require genitalia to be attracted to you.”

“Yeah, how does that work, anyway?” Connor casts about for a snack, but ends up grabbing his phone, pulling up the nearest pizza delivery app.

Hank frowns at the device but makes no move to stop him, “I’m not sure, actually. I have no urge to be sexually pleasured, though I receive some form of…. Satisfaction from your reactions.”

Connor squints at him, “Sounds like tripe.”

“Why does anyone do anything for another person?

“Oh, don’t get philosophical.” He sends off his order and sets the phone down again, “You can’t seriously be completely happy just watching my reaction.”

“Why do humans watch movies? Read books? Play games?” Hank rubs his hands over the outside of Connor’s thighs.

Connor sighs, “It’s entertaining? It’s nice to imagine a new world, new experiences, pretend to be someone else. Feel-” 

Ah.

Connor nods, “Feel what another is feeling, whether it’s pleasure, happiness, sadness…. I think I get what you’re saying.”

“Mhm, I like witnessing your pleasure. While I can’t feel it, I can imagine what it would be like through you.”

“Are you capable of feeling it? Like the Traci models?”

“There’s an update some Androids are getting that give them pressure plates and sensors to mimic the feeling, but I don’t have it.” As he speaks, his hands roam higher. Up over Connor’s hips to brush his thumb across the sensitive skin above his pelvis, then back down, dragging dull nails over his clothed thighs.

Connor shifts slightly, “Do you want it?”

“Do you want me to have it?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

They stare at each other, both aware they’re crossing over another strange milestone in their relationship, and Hank shrugs. He leans close, pressing a kiss to Connor’s cheek, “I don’t need it. While it might be interesting and pleasurable, I am well satisfied with what we are doing.”

“You just like seeing me squirm.”

“That too.”

Connor scoots forward on the counter and coils his arms around Hank’s neck, nuzzles his face into the soft warm spot between his neck and shoulder and breathes in the new scent that will never be anything other than  _ Hank _ . He presses their bodies together, no space left between them, just to be as close as physically possible.

Hank rubs comforting circles over Connor’s back, “Do you want me to have a penis?”

“What?!” Connor frowns at him, and Hank just smiles comfortingly,

“Do you want me to have a-”

“Stop, I heard you.” Connor rubs his eyes, “Hank, this isn’t about me. Relationships are about both, yes, but I-”  _ love  _ is the word that threatens to slip out, Connor sighs, pretending his slip up was simple frustration, “Hank, I don’t  _ need  _ anything. I’m pan - or queer, whatever - I like everything. Get one if you want one.”

“If I did, would you enjoy it?”

Connor debates answering. He doubts Hank will understand that Connor enjoys whatever his partner has, just so long as the partner is also enjoying it. He sighs again, running his hands over the soft fabric of Hank’s sweatshirt,

“If you choose to get the upgrade, whatever it may be, I will enjoy it with you. If you choose to stay as you are, I will continue to enjoy our time together. I don’t care what is or isn’t in your pants, Hank.”

Hank watches him, LED flickering blue, “I will consider my options, and try to base my decisions on my own wants.”

Connor beams, “Good! Now, the pizza tracker says the dude is close, did you get that update to eat yet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments keep me going, my friends. I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Comments give me life!


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